


Immortals of the Caribbean

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, J/E, Vampires, post awe, sparrabeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 59,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post AWE, Elizabeth makes a quiet land-lubber's life for herself in Port Royal. But when a new evil comes to the Caribbean with an interest in the Dutchman and her husband's heart, she jumps at the chance for a new adventure--and a perfect excuse to go in search of our favorite wobble-legged pirate. With Captain Jack Sparrow underfoot once more, Will's heart isn't the only thump-thump in danger of being stolen.  </p><p>Formerly titled More Than One Way To Live Forever.  Version 2.0, this fic has undergone a massive rewrite as of June 2015. Brand new chapters and J/E scenes!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Forward:  
> 2015
> 
> I first wrote this story on a backpacking trip in Asia. Wandering the beach in Gokarna, India, picking up shells, I remember looking at the sunset and longing for that fire of a brewing story to fill my veins.  
> I asked Jack to talk to me.  
> Strangely, he did.  
> This was daydreamed on buses from the Himalayas to New Delhi, from Hong Kong to the thousand island region of the Mekong river in Laos, penned in a 5 rupee notebook with Ganesha on the cover. I nearly lost the manuscript to a spilled glass of mango lassi, and what a shame that would have been!  
> 8 years later, I have decided to revisit this fic. I have added new dialogue, historical details, as well as completely new scenes and chapters. I would say the love story is decidedly sweeter than its previous incarnation, and certainly steamier. The rating has certainly shifted from a tame M to MA-NC 17. Read at your own moral peril. :)  
> Oh, and..yes, my darlings, this is a vampire story. Or as my beloved husband teased me, “Are you writing vampirates again?” But fear not! I absolutely loathe Twilight with every bone in my body. Vampires are supposed to be spooky, not sparkle! My inspiration here was decidedly more old school. Long live Dracula, and Edward Cullen can suck a big fatty D... :P
> 
> So…read up me hearties, yo ho!

[](http://s1174.photobucket.com/user/sleepylotus8/media/bestactionfic.jpg.html)

[](http://s1174.photobucket.com/user/sleepylotus8/media/bestauthor.jpg.html)

[](http://s1174.photobucket.com/user/sleepylotus8/media/BestPostAWEFic.jpg.html)

**Prologue:**

**1580: Caracas**

 

The sailor stood before Don Francisco de Vargas, seeming entirely out of place in the lavish settings of the grand study. The new world had treated de Vargas’s fortunes well, there was plenty of gold and labor to be plundered from the native heathens, and the cacao crop seemed to improve with every year. The sailor seemed uneasy; the Don did not have the best reputation for compassion and understanding. A messenger bearing bad news could have much to fear within these walls.

The sailor was just that.

Jose Barranco’s clothes were even more tattered than the usual maritime state of intense use; indeed it looked as though the sea had swallowed him up and spit him out, merely hours ago, and delivered him to the doorstep of Don de Vargas. “What is it?” asked the Don impatiently.

This salt stank to high heavens, and de Vargas didn’t want the stench to linger in the room. His wife would arrive soon. A lady of breeding, she was sensitive to such details, and would make her discomfort immediately known to him, to the very last detail. She was a force of nature in her own right, and would tolerate close to nothing that disagreed with her.

But she tolerated him, more than tolerated him. He’d gone through what seemed like the seven labors of Hercules, winning her hand, and their married life had never been smooth, placid, uneventful. Always, it had been filled with fits and fights from hell, and sweet sojourns to the clouds of heaven. Very rarely was there anything in between for him. He assumed the same was true for her. What would time and distance have done to them? He would find out, soon. She was due to arrive aboard _La Esperanza_ any month now. Soon they would be reunited. He could barely contain his excitement, his composure, among his servants and soldiers.

Dimly lit, shadows swallowed the corners of the room and swathed the sailor Jose in heavy shadow. Still, Don de Vargas could see something close to a grimace ply across his face. “I was a sailor aboard _La Esperanza,_ Don de Vargas.”

A cold feeling of premonition suddenly shot down through the trunk of Francisco’s body, shattered in his stomach and fanned out to numb his fingers and toes with icy tingles. Dread gripped him, nearly strangling. “ _Si?_ And?”

“I am sorry, Don de Vargas. My Lord. But I am the only survivor. The ship went down in a storm, and the sea swallowed her whole.”

Francisco blinked, unable to discern if _she_ referred to _La Esperanza,_ or solely, his wife. His beloved Isabella. If what this man claimed was true, then it didn’t matter. Grief clenched his heart; for a moment Francisco felt as though he could not breathe, could not think. Could not live. Although the room was dim, he still turned towards the star-speckled windows, hiding his deeply pained expression. Could it really be true? His Isabella, his terrible and wonderful _Dona_ , gone forever?

Absently, he felt his front top teeth with his tongue, nearly drawing blood. As of recent, he had found this world contained many unexplainable, fantastic and horrible phenomenon. Anything was possible in some way, it seemed. And so he vowed at that moment, if he ever found the chance to bring her back, he would not hesitate to do everything within his power to do so.

Don de Vargas had nearly forgotten the sailor stinking up his study, until Jose interrupted his long quiet contemplation. “I am sorry, Don de Vargas, truly.”

Francisco’s attention snapped to Jose, and the poor sailor’s immediate reaction was to take a fearful step backwards in retreat. Had the Don’s eyes truly just flashed like lightning? No, impossible, surely some trick of the light. Francisco felt his grief shift slightly within him, the dagger twisting a bit, shifting pain to a disdainful resentment. “And how is it you are the only survivor, my good man?” asked Don de Vargas, voice sharp as broken glass.

The salt flinched inwardly at the Don’s question; he did not think _God is merciful_ or even _I’m a lucky man_ would satisfy the Don’s bitter curiosity. “I...” He stopped to peer at the Don, who had taken another step closer. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? He could have sworn, that as the Don opened his mouth to speak he could glimpse two incisors, abnormally sharp, almost like an animal. He needed to go, he needed to collapse in a bed in a cheap dirty inn and not move for the next three days. Hunger, dehydration, scorching sun floating for days on end in the water must have all taken a nasty toll.

“Well?” prompted de Vargas. “Tell me your tale, sailor. It must be a miraculous one.”

“I...”

Jose found he could not force more words than that past a lump in his throat, caught in the gaze of the Don. Eyes blue and dark as the ocean at dusk caught him, captivated him, blanketed his mind with haze even as cold fear caused his heart to pound. The Don’s hands went to his jaw, turning his head aside to expose a stretch of thick sun-leathered neck. Francisco’s nose wrinkled with the thought of placing his mouth against that filthy skin, but the blood that called from beneath would be sweet and heavy, strong, and probably taste of the sea.

He would know exactly what had happened to _La Esperanza_ , every detail from the sailor’s mind and memories, far better than anything the man could tell him. Francisco de Vargas preferred to take what he wanted, rather than asking for it, anyways.


	2. Chapter 2

**  
**

**1690: Port Royal**

“It’s been abnormally quiet this morning, have you noticed?”

Norrington looked up from buttering his toast to see Elizabeth standing at the window, one arm resting casually upon the frame. So many years had passed since he asked her to be his wife, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Still, the sight of her took his breath away. The morning light highlighted her fine profile, and set her golden mane afire.

Though this was a normal scene for the former commodore, a stranger looking in may have been actually appalled by Lady Elizabeth’s appearance.

Sweat matted her golden hair at the temples from their morning activity, and it spilled out in a near blinding riot of curls about her shoulders. Her loose lawn shirt lay open at the throat, revealing the layer of wrapping beneath that bound her breasts tight. No full skirt hid her lower half, but trousers and top boots framed her long legs to little imagination and absolute perfection. To a newcomer, the scene would be unusual indeed, but to Norrington it had become a routine, and a blessed one at that.

Every morning at seven o’clock, he practiced fencing with Elizabeth. Five years after their run in with Beckette and Davy Jones, he would admit to himself in private thoughts that she was now his equal with a blade. Every morning afterwards they breakfasted together. And every morning after pecking at her food, she stood at the window to look to the sea.

She was always looking to the sea.

Always.

It was a schedule that smacked of a relationship more intimate than they truly shared. No ring of his encircled Elizabeth’s finger. Indeed she wore no ring at all; William had had none to give her before disappearing in a flash of green aboard the Flying Dutchman.

Events of five years past had liberated her from the usual confines of a woman’s duty, but the prize was only bitter sweet. Beckette’s wicked meddling had, in Elizabeth’s blunt and bitter phrasing, “Freed her from the expectation of grandchildren.”

Fatherless, her husband far at sea, and childless, Elizabeth was left to her own devices. Her once girlish laugh, high and glittering like chimes in the wind, now held the edge of a woman who had seen too much too young.

Despite it all, James suspected she enjoyed her freedom, more than she would ever tell him.

“I can’t say I noticed,” James confessed. “But I have yet to set foot out of doors.”

Elizabeth nodded dismissively, eyes still transfixed on the window. “Come have a bit more to eat, you’re getting too thin,” Norrington urged casually.

Her lips curled slightly at his fussing. “You are neither my father nor my husband, James. I’ll eat as I like.”

Her smile for James was never quite as sweet as it had once been. She was a shadow of the innocent girl she once was. The wariness left behind by their misadventure showed in her eyes, and her smile.

“True, I am not,” James acknowledged. “Though not for lack of trying.” He teased openly, without self-conscience. Life had changed, the formalities had dropped away. Indeed, life had taken on a whole new flavor for James Norrington entirely. He’d been given another chance at life, spat from the very jaws of death itself and washed up ashore on the beach of Port Royal.

He could not remember any details of his salvation, all was gray in his normally precise military memory.

Elizabeth suspected, nigh nearly knew, it must have been Will granting a favor. A blessing. James had died to save her, after all. It was a feat she could understand the ferryman breaking the rules to reward. Not that she knew the rules, or even pretended to understand them. That would be an utter exercise in futility, she’d learned.

Though no longer a Commodore, James now served on an honorary position of the town council. He advised in matters of defense, but for the most part, lived a quiet life on a military pension.

James too had changed with time.

He no longer regarded life through the same rigid glasses he once wore. There were no squares in nature, only circles, curves, organic shapes and ragged edges. Where certain others only seemed to fear the coming of death more, after experiencing it once and coming back, James found it a freeing experience. He felt as though he knew something of what inevitably waited on the other side. It didn’t seem unpleasant. No, it didn’t seem like much of anything, really. Not something to look forward to, but nor was it something to fear.

“Even if I wasn’t already technically married, James, you wouldn’t want me for a wife. It would spoil things between us, I think. That would be a shame, because you know you’re my last friend in Port Royal.”

“Elizabeth, you exaggerate.”

Elizabeth did not exaggerate.

Truly, he was the only one left in Port Royal now that she cared a fig about. She could still remember the joy welling in her breast, upon elbowing through the crowd ashore, gawking at something that had washed up on the beach five years ago. There lay James on the sand, soaked and disheveled, but miraculously alive and breathing. Her face was the first thing he saw, opening his eyes after being granted the gift of life once again. Tears in her own eyes, the sun had shone behind her, blinding as a halo. He’d never witnessed a more beautiful sight.

Never.

She laughed bitterly, her disdain for the vicious society of the town plainly evident in her voice. “You know what they whisper as I walk past. No one wants to associate with the likes of me.”

They called her all kinds of names, ranging from rude to utterly incendiary.

That strange girl. That silly abolitionist chit. That pirate’s harlot.

James conjectured she brought the vicious gossip upon herself though, by choosing to go about in her trousers and boots on a daily basis, that tricorn hat perched carelessly upon her head.

It smacked a bit of a _certain_ pirate they both knew.

“If I was a pirate’s whore,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath, “Then I wouldn’t be stuck here on land, would I?”

James pretended not to hear, but couldn’t control a slight twitch of eyebrow. Despite what the townies were convinced of, he knew her to be no such thing. Though, her fascination with that pirate Sparrow...yes, it certainly remained. She could not hide it, though she tried, burying it deep inside her. The taste of adventure and freedom, battle on the high seas left her a branded woman.

Forever changed.

She had come a long way from being the pampered governor’s daughter. Waited upon hand and foot, always a maid to clean up after her. After inheriting her late father’s fortune she forsook the luxury of her former lifestyle, moving to a little cottage outside of town. It was built on the bluff, overlooking the endless sea. She washed her own clothes, cooked her own food, cleaned her own rooms. Lived by the power in her own two hands, and she very much preferred it that way. The size of her new house resembled the dimensions of a ship’s cabin, and Norrington suspected it was no accident.

An unexpected knock came at the door. “Enter,” called Norrington, and was surprised to find one of the soldiers escorting a priest. “Sir, forgive my intrusion sir, but there’s a man here I think you should speak with.”

Curiosity piqued, Norrington waved them both farther into the room. “Yes?”

A small dark man entered, dressed in a black cassock. His hair was dark and cut short to the skull, two surprised streaks of silver glinting out of his raven hair. “I am Padre Sanchez, from Puerto Moreas,” said the priest, stepping forward. He seemed normal enough, until on second inspection, Norrington noticed dried blood on his white collar. “I have made the journey here rather painstakingly, but I bear important news, that I’m afraid will not bode well.”

           

* * *

 

 

“You must forgive me for instinctively feeling some doubt,” said Norrington, as the father finished his ghastly tale. “You tell a horrific story, and so strange. Fanged demons with the strength of twenty men?”

“You are forgiven, of course,” said the padre, stirring sugar into a cup of tea. “Anyone would and should have such a reaction to my story. But do not just take me for my word, I implore you investigate the damages yourself. You wouldn’t even need a map to find it, I’m afraid. The vultures circling above Puerto Moreas blacken the sky; a beacon of death seen from miles around.”

“Everyone in the town, massacred?” questioned Elizabeth with alarm. “You are truly the only survivor?” the tale seemed farfetched, and yet Elizabeth knew what supernatural horrors, and miracles, were possible across the seven seas.

“ _Verdad_ ,” confirmed the Padre. There was a tremble in his hand as he picked up his cup. With a sigh, he set down the teacup and waited for the tremor to pass, crossing himself and saying a short prayer under his breath. “It seemed these things could not enter my church, could not set foot upon consecrated ground. I can still hear the screams from outside,” he explained. “There was such complete silence, before they came. And also, when they left. Will you come, Commodore? Perhaps you can find some evidence to follow these brigands; this tragedy could befall Port Royal as easily as it did Puerto Moreas.”

“I fear it’s former Commodore,” said James with a wince so slight only Elizabeth noticed it. “Why did you come _here,_ to an English port?” he asked, instinctively suspicious of a Spaniard. Old grudges ran long.

“Frankly,” said the Padre, “I know that a missive to Cuba would bring help too late. They would have to send to Spain for advice and it will take months before any authority would even think of lifting a finger. Sadly, this is the way of my country. But you, James Norrington, have a reputation as a man of action. I beseech you to help. This is not a Spanish problem or an English problem or a French problem—it is a human problem.”

Solemnly, Norrington nodded. “I will come with my men,” he agreed. “If you care to wait at the dock, I would request you come with us.”

“Of course,” agreed the Padre, standing. “ _Gracias_ , Commodore.” he said. “And God bless you.”

As soon as the Padre and marine left the room, Norrington turned to Elizabeth. Before she could even open her mouth to speak, he anticipated her. “Absolutely not. You will stay here.”

She took his ultimatum more willingly than he expected. Nay, it was almost unnerving, how easily she accepted.

“As you wish, James. Safe journey.” He raised his eyebrows, suspicious. He would be double checking the cargo hold before leaving.

Reaching out, he brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers. Perhaps he did not fear death for himself anymore, but the thought of Elizabeth coming to any harm terrified him. She smiled that sorrowful curl of lips. She knew that look in his eyes, she’d seen it before. She made to retreat from the room before his urge to kiss her overcame cool English sensibilities, and he made a fool of himself.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Elizabeth knew Norrington would be checking the cargo hold extra thoroughly. It bought her a bit of time. She packed some essential things and provisions hastily in a ruck sack. Stowing away was no longer necessary.

Her beloved skiff, the Free Swan II was a well-kept secret tucked away in a cove. She was a small vessel, but sufficient and easily manned, or womanned, as the case may be, by a solo sailor. It was once a fishing rig, and still smelled as such on a warm day when the wind didn’t blow hard enough to spirit the scent away. It wasn’t suitable for ocean crossings, but was perfectly suited for bobbing about the Caribbean waves when she felt she needed to get out.

That happened often.

Puerto Moreas should have been a simple day trip, but she prepared for a few days more in her provisions, especially her water stores.

* * *

The utter silence was the first eerie feature of the island that struck Elizabeth. It was similar to the quiet settled over Port Royal that morning, only far more sinister, as though nature had simply ceased. The second, as she neared closer the town, was the stench. If the Padre was correct, then more than one hundred bodies left to the merciless Caribbean sun made up the bouquet of Puerto Moreas that late afternoon.

“Dear God,” she hissed to herself, walking through to streets. It was the stuff of nightmares. Never in all her adventures had she witnessed a scene so ghastly. Bodies littered the streets, the buildings, hung out of windows and lay tossed discarded in the shrubbery. She held a handkerchief over her nose to filter the smell, which left nothing to tend the tears in her eyes. There were children among the dead. Many children, tossed about to land like rag dolls, broken and alone.

“There’s no blood,” she heard someone exclaim around the corner. “All these bodies, but no blood! Where did it all go?”

It was a strange but true observation. Vultures circled, buildings lay charred. But no blood stained them.

“I don’t know,” answered a voice Elizabeth recognized as Norrington’s. Quickly, she ducked behind a building, listening as the navy men passed.

“My God. My God. My God.” someone muttered over and over.

“They drank it,” said the Padre. “They drank the blood, I saw it with my own two eyes. The lord sayeth _The blood is the life,_ but these were no creatures of god.”

Elizabeth noticed on one of the bodies two curious puncture wounds. Was that where the blood was drawn from? As she made a further inspection, she found every corpse to at least have one set of such wounds, and some as many as three or four. What were these weird creatures? How could they be stopped? All the bodies on the ground were human; it seemed not one enemy had fallen in the fray.

She had no idea, and no book in her library spoke of such things. But not everything is written in books. Some knowledge is left to the darkness, and those who have walked in it. One person came to mind who might know what to do, or who could at least help her find out.

“Bloody hell,” she cursed under her breath. She hated thinking about him, those kohl lined eyes, dark as obsidian, mysterious and sharp. And a mouth, so soft and clever, a full classical shape, beautiful until it opened and something infuriating spilled forth. The way the corners of that mouth could curl, in the most incensing smile. She’d never been sure what she wanted more with that mouth: to slap it or kiss it.

She hated thinking about him, because it _hurt_.

He’d sailed away and hadn’t looked back, same as her husband.

She spent far too much time perched on her cliff side lookout, searching the horizon for black sails. Wishing. Hoping.

They never showed.

It _hurt._

She was simply lonely, she told herself. She just missed Will.

_Keep telling’ yourself that, darlin'._

Even when he wasn’t present, he still argued with her, vexed her to no end. It simply wasn’t fair. With a groan, she pushed thoughts of Jack out of her mind. Elizabeth shook her head, focusing on the task at hand.

A more recently acquired nervous gesture, she fingered the small charm that hung from a lock of her hair. Even that echoed of _him,_ though in her defense she would say it was simply the best place she could think of to store the valuable piece of shiny. No one would think to look for it in her hair, hidden unobtrusively beneath a mane nearly the same color.

She needed someone with more experience with the supernatural than her. Someone willing to believe in the nasties of the night and the deep; even better, someone who lived to tell the tale.

No one came to mind. No one else but _him._

Simply no one else would do.

Knowing her heading, Elizabeth trimmed her sails. The port of dubious reputation was a two day journey, and she was glad she’d packed extra sundries.

If she could find Jack anywhere, it would be Tortuga.

Something deep inside flipped and danced at the thought of seeing _him_ again, and she could not discern if it was apprehension or excitement that vexed her.

Sometimes, they were exactly the same thing.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Most days, Jack Sparrow managed to forget her. There was work to be done: charts to consult, headings to ponder, ships to be pillaged, and plenty of ladies of ill repute to help him spend the plunder. Things were _practically_ normal. Normal as normal can be, for Jack Sparrow, at any rate.

But at night, it wasn’t so easy. The days were his, but his sleeping hours somehow seemed to have slipped into _her_ possession. He would wake beaded with sweat and so certain that if he reached over, he would find her soft skin beneath his fingertips, her curvaceous form lying on his berth next to him.

It was a curse he’d never bargained for. Sometimes halfway through a bottle of good Caribbean rum, dark and warm and heady, he would see her, just out the corner of his eyes. A flash of golden hair, the perfect curve of jaw line or a nearly too pertly curled up nose.

So on that particular night, sitting at a rickety table in his favorite Tortuga tavern, he wasn’t terribly alarmed to catch sight of the woman advancing towards him with a confident stride, sword on her hip, hat perched jauntily atop that pretty head. But imagine the pirate’s surprise when the vision kicked out a chair, and plunked down beside him. It even had the audacity to say, “Hello Jack.”

Jack blinked, looked to his bottle clasped loosely in his hand, muttering to himself, “This is stronger stuff than I thought.”

She frowned as he reached out to flick her arm resting upon the table, and when his fingers didn’t pass as easily through her flesh as he’d hoped, he felt the undeniable urge to run.

“What?”

The vision spoke, and he jumped, eyes wide and surprised, realizing this was not one of his now seemingly frequent hallucinations. It was real. It was _her,_ here in the flesh, sitting across from him.

Bugger.

Instantly alarms, defenses and walls of all manners raised, as Jack nonchalantly sat back farther in his chair, crossing his arms. That twin braided chin jutted out haughtily, eyes suddenly boring into her. “Well well, if it ain’t Elizabeth Swann, gracing us with her golden presence once again.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, looking side to side, curious who _us_ might be.

It seemed Jack was drinking alone.

The greeting was more asinine than she’d hoped, but in truth she didn’t really know what to expect. In truth, she didn’t think she would be lucky enough to find Jack. It was a stroke of luck, if the definition of luck may be used liberally. “It’s still Elizabeth Turner, if you recall,” she replied curtly, falling into her usual habit of combative interaction with the pirate. “And Mrs. Turner to _you_.”

Jack smiled a wolfish grin. “And it’s Captain Sparrow to _you_ , luv. To what do I owe this great pleasure?”

Elizabeth glanced around. The bar was a den of turmoil, rowdy drunken men and ladies of the night. She wished there were a quieter place they could go to speak, but she suspected the request would be met with more sarcasm.

“I need your help,” she answered frankly, hoping she didn’t sound too desperate yet.

At hearing the answer, Jack grimaced and stood from the table. “I was afraid of that.”

Elizabeth watched, a bit alarmed, but mostly annoyed, as Jack began to walk away from her. Doggedly she followed. “Have you heard about Puerto Moreas yet?” she questioned, ducking under a stray bar mug and attached tattooed arm waving wildly.

“Lovely little Spanish port. I particularly recommend the church’s wine, I had a boatload impersonating a man of the cloth. What about it?”

Utterly unfazed by the cleric remark, Elizabeth went on, “Well, its not there anymore. The whole town was massacred, save one man. The priest, ironically.”

“Can’t trust em, they’re a wily lot.” Elizabeth had followed him up the stairs, and by that time they stood at Jack’s door, he inserting the key into the lock.

“I don’t think he had anything to do with it. He described the attackers as being blood sucking demons. After seeing the bodies, I believe him.” She stepped into the room with him, and he paid her a haughty glare.

“Bully for you.” Jack slammed the door and bolted it shut.

“Jack, would you listen!?”

Suddenly Elizabeth found herself pushed up against the door, pinned by two wiry arms on either side of her. The force of hitting the door stole her breath away, or perhaps--being this close to Jack again, after so very long, made her feel annoyingly…elated.

A long moment of silence stretched between them. Elizabeth was sure Jack could hear heart pounding in her chest, her pulse thundering in her own ears.

Jack’s intense black eyes seemed to burn as he looked her over head to toe. Was it possible that she could be even more beautiful now than he last remembered? Even in this ridiculous costume, men’s knickers and a cotton lawn shirt, tricorn hat tilted rakishly upon the back of her golden crowned head.

Blasted girl.

He’d tried so hard to forget her looks, her smile, her laugh, her courage--and that she was living all alone somewhere on Jamaica, no husband in sight for a decade. Well, half a decade now.

Where had the years gone?

Time didn’t mean as much to him now as it had before.

He’d hoped Elizabeth didn’t either, but with her here before him that seemed frightfully, ever so irritatingly, wrong.

Elizabeth couldn’t help it. He tried to appear menacing, but she was immune, it seemed. A smile broke her lips and the words spilled forth before she could cap them. “Jack, I’m so glad I found you.”

The pirate straightened, attempting to ignore the tightening in his chest at hearing those words from her. He made a show of eyeing her suspiciously, but in the end he too said something he didn’t mean to. “Why? Decide ye accepted the wrong mar-i-age proposal after all?”

It hurt how much he found he wanted her to simply say _yes._

Elizabeth gasped, frozen against the door, Jack’s body looming over hers.

She knew she was supposed to say something indignant, but for a long and telling moment it seemed she’d forgotten her line.

How many nights had she guiltily lain awake at night, alone, so very alone and wondering just that?

She cleared her throat uncomfortably, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I’ve come to find you because I need your expertise. Surely you know something about these creatures? You’ve seen _everything_. What they could be? How do we kill them?”

“Why don’t you just use a kraken? You’re good at that.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed at the pirate. It didn’t hardly seem fair to hurl such antiquated grievances. Well, she did _kill_ him. Perhaps it was entirely fair. Perhaps she even deserved it. “Jack.”

He took a shuddering breath, trying to pretend standing so close to her wasn’t pure torture. Wasn’t making him think about the lumpy bed oh-so-conveniently placed in the corner of the ramshackle room. “What’s in it for me?” he finally asked, voice husky.

The low sound of his voice alarmed Elizabeth. It tugged at things deep in her gut. Things that her husband and her husband alone should have claim over. But her husband was a world away, quite literally...oh bloody hell.

Did he know what he did to her? She suspected it was quite possible. Fighting to not succumb to the weakness she felt in her knees, she hissed indignantly, “Of course, doing a good deed wouldn’t be enough. You want me to pay you? I will, if that’s all that matters to you.”

Jack smirked, glancing up and down, taking his time about taking her in. That one lecherous look sent the heat of a blush blooming a fiery red up her neck and cheeks. “Pay me with what?”

With a glare, Elizabeth replied, “Gold. You still have a weakness for shiny things, don’t you?”

Jack found himself distractedly fingering a lock of Elizabeth’s hair. “That I do, luv. That I do.”

Trying to hide the butterflies she felt in her stomach, fearing Jack would see the weakness in her eyes, she shoved him away. Immediately, in the absence of him she felt _cold_ , a shiver coursing down her spine.

“Scoundrel,” she grumbled under her breath.

“ _Pirate_ , darlin’” he corrected her. “So how did you get here? Stow away, as per usual?”

“I’ve my own vessel now, actually. The Free Swann. The Second. She’s a small skiff, I’m afraid she’s not up to expeditions.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “You’d be surprised what you can do with a little bit of floating driftwood, luv... What happened to the Free Swann the First?”

Elizabeth hesitated, looking sideways, which Jack knew was usually an indication of a lie. “She’s gone...”

Beginner’s accident, Jack reckoned.

He’d had plenty of those, not that he would admit it.

“Remind me to never let you steer.”

She looked back up to Jack, a bewitching smile curled on her lips. Poison to honey in two seconds flat. Ye Gods it could kill a man. “Come on now, Captain, let’s be fair. You’ve lost two ships thus far, and I’ve only lost one.”

“Er--Well, _Captain_ Swann, when you’ve sailed as long as me and STILL have only lost one, we’ll see then.”

“I--” Elizabeth’s reply was interrupted by an awful scream. It wasn’t the joyous sound of play, as could usually be heard by the ladies down below, but a cry of pure terror loud enough to rise above the din of the nightlife of Tortuga. Both Elizabeth and Jack rushed to the window to look down below. 

The view was not a pleasant one.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“You’ve got some strange kind of pets down there,” said Ritchie Anderson, the Tortuga dockman, peering down into the dark murky water below the Tortuga docks. There was a full moon shining up above, and one could clearly see the small triangular dorsal fins circling in the water.

The man smiling down at them was a stranger to Ritchie, although in Tortuga that was little cause for suspicion. There was something queer about the man though. He was handsome enough, tall, dressed like a prince in a crimson silk vest and a black ribbon holding back his blond hair. But when he smiled, the old dockman could have swore the teeth that flashed in the moonlight were a bit sharper than what was natural.

Looking down at the circling sharks, the stranger said, “They are but the smaller babes who hunt the shallows, but they bring me great pleasure. Come, my friend, come look. Do not be afraid.” A Spaniard, by the sound of his accent.

Something about this man was right strange, but still Ritchie went to his side, curious. “Tell me, do any of these vessels here belong to the pirate Jack Sparrow?”

The dockman shrugged. Jack Sparrow was an elusive character, it was difficult to keep track of his comings and goings. “Not that I know of. Why are they circling here like that?” he asked, turning back to the sharks. “Are you feeding them?”

The stranger put a friendly arm around his shoulders. “No no,” he answered. “They come here because I called them. Because they are mine.”

The dockman raised a scraggly eyebrow, turning to look at the stranger. Suddenly he found himself pulled against the Spaniard’s chest, unbelievably strong arms holding him immobile. He felt a sharp, painful prick in his neck, but found he could not scream. “Be still,” demanded a voice in his head. Richie obeyed, his last coherent action.

No one noticed when the body of Ritchie Anderson splashed into the water, to quickly be torn into by the circling sharks below. “Take the flesh, my darlings, I have no use for it.” A loud scream drew the Spaniard’s attention up to the town. It had begun.

Not all of his brethren had learned to quiet the victim’s mind before taking them, as he had. The skill was useful for stealth’s sake, but he supposed it didn’t matter now. Tonight, Tortuga belonged to them.

 

* * *

 

“Your friends?” asked Jack, looking down at the chaos below. It was a mad riot, maybe even a normal sight for the streets of the pirate port. But on this occasion they were not fighting for a strumpet or a piece of shiny; they fought for their lives. And by the looks of things, they were losing.

“Hardly.” Elizabeth gripped the hilt of her sword, hard enough for knuckles to go white. Fear was a cold hard lump in the pit of her stomach.

“I think beatin’ a hasty retreat is in order, how bout you?” Not waiting for her answer, Jack grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, tugging her towards the door.

She tried to ignore the thrill that shot through her at Jack’s familiar touch.

Swords drawn, they descended down into the mess of the tavern, making their way virtually unnoticed through the fray.

It wasn’t until they hit the street and rushed quite a ways that they met with some trouble. There in the middle of the road lay two figures, one prostrated beneath the other. As they approached the one on top looked up from his victim, like a lion crouched over the kill, and bared his teeth in an inhuman snarl. Both Jack and Elizabeth froze, taken aback by the thing’s bloodstained mouth.

Without hesitation, that thing sprang forward, heading straight for the foremost between the two humans: Jack. And just as unhesitant, Jack slashed out with his sword, catching the thing in the throat with his blade. With a cry of rage muted to a sickening gurgle, its vocal chords severed, the monster fell aside to the ground, writhing. It did not die, but seemed incapacitated. Unwilling to stick around and see what happened next, the two fled the scene, heading for the docks.

“What _are_ they?!” exclaimed Elizabeth.

“I’m goin’ out on a limb, as we are in the discombobulating heat of a battle, and sayin’ I think they’re vampires. Where’s your--”

Jack was interrupted.

One of the bloodsucking beasties that looked oh so deceptively like a man came out of nowhere, moving faster than the human eye could follow. He tackled Jack, sending them both careening into a wall.

“Jack!” As Elizabeth rushed to his aid, she suddenly found herself airborne, two arms like iron around her waist. And then nothing, as the thing tossed her away. She waited for the hard and unforgiving ground to reclaim her, but was surprised to feel herself crash through the window of a second story. Not exactly an improvement.

She landed on the floor with a thud, broken glass raining down on her, and cutting into her skin from beneath. The wind knocked out of her, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to push to her feet, although her body protested greatly. Somewhere along the line of being a human tennis ball, she’d lost her sword.

A tingling at the base of her neck told Elizabeth she was no longer alone in the little room she’d landed in. The door still remained closed; she looked to the window to see one of the creatures crouched, ready to spring. She scrambled for the knife in her boot, all the while waiting for the weight of the thing to take them to the floor. She heard its vicious hiss as it launched, but the pain never came.

Another of them had entered the room, and was calmly holding her first attacker at bay by the throat. “This one is mine,” he decreed, shoving the vampire towards the window. It appeared Elizabeth had been saved, but for how long and for what purpose, she didn’t know.

Gripping her boot knife, holding it unobtrusively at her side, Elizabeth began to inch towards the door. “Ah ah,” said the newcomer, making a waving gesture. The door slammed shut obediently, the lock clicking into place. She watched, wide eyed, as the vampire looked to her hungrily, the way snakes do little mice, with eyes as deep blue as the finest of sapphires. “You wouldn’t leave without a proper introduction, would you? How unladylike.”

His voice was cultured, though accented. Spanish, she deduced.

“Not an original accusation, I assure you. Perhaps you should start with yourself.” Her voice sounded far more collected than she felt. She felt as though her heart might escape from her chest at any moment, furious pounding fueled by adrenaline and fear.

The vampire gave a brilliant smile, displaying quite openly both of his elongated and sharp incisors. He held himself as a nobleman, dressed in black, except for a crimson red brocade vest, and a sash of the same color. Hair a few shades lighter than hers was pulled back in a ponytail, leaving a handsome face, square jaw and precisely trimmed beard. “But of course, as my lady wishes. I am Don Francisco de Vargas, at your service,” he said with a flourishing bow. “And you are?”

“Captain Elizabeth Swann.” She neglected to give her true married name on impulse, and could not resist the chance to introduce herself as a captain. She didn’t get the chance often, and the word felt so _good_ rolling off her tongue.

“Ah, a swan? How perfectly telling.” He took a step closer, and her grip tightened on her dagger. “Now, you surely wouldn’t use that on me?” he asked playfully, with a toothy smile. “We are friends now, are we not?”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.”

Moving at a speed too fast to follow with mere human eyes, the vampire suddenly was upon Elizabeth, backing her into the wall, one hand gripping hers that held the blade. She fought to hold on, but caved in the end. His strength was far too great for her to withstand. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Much better.” She glared at him, and felt herself being pulled into his eyes, feeling as though the room was slowly spinning, the floor dropping out from beneath her. Realizing he was hypnotizing her, she fought to look away. No easy feat. His eyes were such a dark blue they were nearly black, like the ocean in twilight. _Do not fight me_ whispered a voice in her head. _Look into my eyes._

In defiance, she closed hers tight. “No,” she whimpered. She felt her hands being raised up above her head, pinned by one of his. A gentle finger stroked her cheek, her jaw line, ever so lightly. _Look at me_ coaxed the voice. _Open your eyes_. It surprised her, how her eyes began to open of their own accord, and how she had to fight to keep them closed.

“Very well,” he said softly, hand moving down to the collar of her shirt, pulling it down to reveal an expanse of long neck. “You will feel everything then.”

Her heart thundered in her chest as she felt him move down, his warm breath against her neck, then soft lips. She opened her eyes to see his golden head bending over her, and felt the first brush of hard teeth.

Suddenly, there was a violent banging on the door, interrupting the pseudo-peace of the second story room. Francisco raised his head to glare at the door, and gave a quiet hiss, baring his fangs. “He will be too late,” he said, and noticed Elizabeth’s eyes were open. Before she could close them again, he caught her with his gaze. She felt a tingling at the base of her neck, and found that this time, she couldn’t look away. “No,” she protested, voice barely able to whisper.

“ _Si, si, si_ ,” he whispered. “It is best this way, my lady. No pain.” She felt herself being pulled under dark water. Even while the banging at the door became more urgent, Francisco ignored it, until there was a gunshot, and the door kicked open. Jack burst into the room, holding a smoking pistol in one hand, and his cutlass in the other, stained dark with blood.

The vampire was at a momentary loss for what to do, like a dog with a bone, he didn’t want to release his latest and very attractive meal to meet his attacker. Jack took advantage of the pause, leaping across the room for the single burning lantern. As the vampire finally moved to stop him, Jack hurled it against Francisco, covering him in oil and subsequently, flames.

As the broiling monster flailed and shrieked angrily, Jack scooped Elizabeth up from the floor where she’d slid with one arm, urging her on. They raced out, leaving the screams of rage of the vampire behind them, only stopping to pick up Elizabeth’s sword left to lay in the street.

Elizabeth felt in a daze, as though she’d just been woken from a deep sleep. The world seemed fuzzy and distant, she felt grateful for Jack’s guiding hand on her arm, something solid to hold on to in her dreamlike state. They wove through narrow alleys, Jack seemed to know all the back ways as well as he knew his own ship. “Where’s your skiff, luv?” he asked as they reached the docks.

“Towards the end, farthest away,” she answered absently. “Why aren’t we going to the Pearl?”

“Don’t have it,” he answered tersely. Quickly they were astride the docks, and Jack found the skiff that could be none other than the Free Swann II. He pushed her up as he watched behind them for unwelcome followers. It seemed most of the chaos had kept to the main square of town, leaving the waterfront eerily still amidst the screams in the distance.


	6. Chapter 6

Once safely on the Freedom, Elizabeth found herself deposited on the deck, leaning against the mainsail, while Jack scrambled around readying to sail. Seemingly in no time at all they were drifting away from the dock, away from Tortuga, the burning buildings and screams. The dizzy feeling washed over her again, and she slid down the mast to sit on the deck. What was wrong with her?

The further they drifted, as more time passed, she felt her head clearing, as though a fog were being lifted from around her head. All tasks of the launch completed and a rough course set, she found herself being inspected from head to toe. “You came back for me,” she sighed, suddenly struck with disbelief as she felt the faculty for speech return.

After all this time, she never thought he would.

“Aye, luv, I came back for you,” he said quietly, pulling aside the collar of her shirt to inspect her neck. His warm firm fingers felt wonderful on her skin, and he was visibly relieved to find her free of bite marks.

Yet another wave of wooziness came over her. Were she not already sitting, she would have been taken to the deck. “The lantern,” she said dreamily. “How did you know fire...”

Jack took one of her arms in his hand, of which still had some glass embedded in it. “Not a beastie I’ve ever encountered appreciates being set on fire,” he said. “An educated but lucky guess.” When picking at the glass with his fingers was unsuccessful, he resorted to using his teeth as tweezers. She watched passively, somewhat enjoying this strange form of intimacy.

“He was in my head,” she said, recounting the experience just passed. “In my mind. He took me over, and I felt like I was drowning again. I still feel as though I haven’t quite made it to the surface yet.”

Jack pulled a large piece of glass from her arm, spitting it out into some dark corner of the deck. She was somewhat grateful for the pain, it helped clear her mind more. “Hypnotization of some sort. He tried it on me too.”

“What? When?” She was puzzled.

“Bout a month back.”

“What?!”

Elizabeth did not expect this. Not at all. He’d already known about this Francisco? Already met him face to face? Knew about these vampires terrorizing the Caribbean, and had done nothing about it? Of course, what was he supposed to do? What _could_ one do, against creatures like _that._

“Seems he’s after me for some reason or another. Hard to keep track of who wants what from ol’ Jack Sparrow these days.”

“So you’ve met before?”

“Aye. I wasn’t quite as lucky as you though. He nipped me neck ‘fore I managed to escape. Still have a bit o’ scar.” He touched the brown skin at the base of his neck, and true enough there was a set of fresh pink scratches at his neck.

She reached out to touch the slick pink skin, but he caught her hand before fingers could make contact, an unidentifiable look in those dark eyes.

Letting her touch him was a bad idea, he reasoned. He would do something stupid, like touch her back. He’d managed this long to stay away from her. How many times had he been on the verge of gliding into Port Royal to find her? Too many to count, and usually after he’d had too much rum.

 _But_ she _came to find_ you, a damnable little voice whispered in his ear.

 _That doesn’t mean anything_ , Jack snapped back.

 _Means plenty,_ chuckled the voice, and Jack did his best to swat it away.

Against his better judgement, he declared, “So in light of the nasty Francisco findin’ me once again, I have decided to aid you in your quest to search and destroy said fanged beastie. For _entirely_ selfish reasons. Don’t want you t’get any ideas in your head about me turning over a new leaf and whatnot. Savvy?”

Elizabeth smiled lazily, still feeling a little drunk on whatever the vampire had done to her. Surely this sudden glow inside was due to that, and not her own pleasure for Jack’s words. “I wouldn’t expect anything less, or anything more, don’t worry.”

“Good. You know--”Suddenly, a blur of motion swept down from the sky, barreling into Jack, and taking them to the deck.

“Jack!” Elizabeth screamed, watching in horror as the demon and pirate captain rolled about the floor, Jack struggling to keep gleaming fangs from his throat. She looked about frantically for some instrument of violence, and the best she found was an old broken pike lying neglected against the side of the ship. She seized the shortened spear, and saw that the creature had gained the upper hand, pinning Jack to the deck and bearing down upon him. With a cry of rage she ran forward, driving the pike into the creature’s back with all her strength. The thing shuddered, and Jack watched wide eyed as it fell off to the side of him, and with a horrible shudder lay still.

Rolling away and standing quickly, Jack brushed himself off with an expression of disgust. And then they watched with morbid amazement, as the thing seemed to shrink upon itself, the skin tightening against the bones as though all tissue underneath was losing its moisture.

Elizabeth poked at it with the toe of her boot, and when it remained still she kicked it over. Its mouth remained in a permanent snarl, lips pulled back over a pair of menacing sharp fangs. Without looking at Jack, too engrossed by the strange corpse before them, she said, “I believe we’re square now, Captain.”

“That we are, dearie. That we are.”

They stared down at the beastie with morbid fascination, before deciding to toss it overboard. “It must have stowed away somewhere aboard. Can’t imagine where though, on such a _dingy_ ship as this.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the jab, feeling entirely awake now, the adrenaline from the just recent skirmish coursing through her veins. “I wouldn’t demean my ship if I were you, _Jack_ , as you are seemingly without one entirely. So does this count as you losing three ships? I believe you’re _two_ ahead of me, now.”

Jack paid a sliding glare to the woman. He decided he liked her better when she was acting dreamy, and complacent...and allowing him to put his mouth on her skin without a single protest. The thought of his mouth on Elizabeth’s skin made him twitch a bit inside, and not from disgust, as any sane man thinking about a woman who had bloody _killed_ him would...

“So how did you lose the Pearl, at any rate?”

The thought of said story instantly pushed Jack into an irritable frame of mind. “Barbossa,” was all he would say.

And indeed, it was all he really needed to.

Elizabeth nodded, thinking Barbossa would have another bullet coming to him, next Jack had the chance. “You’re hurt.” she said, gesturing towards his arm. “Let me help you.” As she reached for his arm, he jumped away, as though her touch might burn him.

More than she knew.

“No need, just a scratch,” he assured her gruffly.

“Take off your shirt and let me see,” she insisted. She didn’t want Jack to bleed to death for something as silly as modesty.

Jack, in his inherent to be contrary nature, instead pulled a flask from his belt of a thousand effects, and took a swig. “Anxious t’get me shirt off already?” he taunted, hoping that would keep her at bay.

Then, ignoring her best he could, he ducked into her cabin, where he hoped to find some manner of a mirror, that any proper lady should keep in her quarters. He walked in and looked around, for naught. Apparently Elizabeth was no longer a proper lady.

How _interesting_.


	7. Chapter 7

Setting the flask down on the table, Jack stripped off his coat and shirt, craning his neck to assess the scratches on his back. From what he could see, they were already beginning to close quite nicely.

“Doesn’t entering the captain’s cabin usually require an invitation?” said Elizabeth, ducking through the door. Snatching up a rag from the table, she dipped it in a basin, and made to begin cleaning his wounds. Jack watched her hands, eyes wide with alarm. He didn’t want her to touch him, because he’d worked far too hard to forget those hands. But she did not know this, and he surely could not tell her.

Would not tell her.

Did she know she’d been with him, everywhere, from Zanzibar to the far shores of the Japans?

Jumping out of reach, staring at Elizabeth from across the small table, Jack quickly excused, “M’touched by your concern for my person, but tis really not necessary. _Truly_.”

Eyeing Jack suspiciously, she tossed down the rag with a wet _slap._ And eyes never leaving his, she reached to uncork the flask he’d left on the table, making to take a swig herself.

It had been a rough night.

Watching Elizabeth, Jack beheld with much horror the woman raising the vessel to her lips. “Don’t!” he cried, scrambling frantically in his animated way to halt the precious liquid’s progress to her mouth. He swiped the flask but some managed to splash out, landing on Elizabeth’s arm. She stood completely startled. “Somebody’s a bit protective of his rum--”

She then realized that had it been rum, her cuts would be stinging. Jack Sparrow drinking from an innocent carafe of water? Surely not. She sniffed her arm.

Smelled like nothing.

And then she noticed something particularly unsettling about the glass wounds on her arm where the water had splashed. Particularly, she didn’t notice them at all. They were completely healed, smooth flawless skin, not even the pink of a fresh scar.

“What _is_ that stuff?” she demanded. Jack smiled, all too smug. He waggled the flask playfully, and took another, very small sip.

“Agua de Vida, luv. Unless you decide you want to live forever, best not be swillin’ out me jug.”

Elizabeth blinked with surprise. And yet, she found herself not _so_ surprised as one might think. He was Captain Jack Sparrow, after all.

She held out her arm in astonishment. “Look, it healed my arm completely. Not even a scar.”

Jack craned his neck to peer at her arm, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Didn’t know it would do that. My experiments with the stuff are still young, as it were.”

“Well, dab a bit more on then, I’ll be good as new.”

Jack shoved the cork back down in the flask. “What’s in it for me? This is precious stuff, you know. Worth far more than its weight in gold, I’d say.”

“Surely you have more than just that. It’s nearly gone.”

“That I do, luv. Not that I’ll be tellin’ you where, you’d go off and find a way to burn it.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Fine then. I’ll just stick it out and fight off infection and disease. I--” There she went again, gabbing about with that infuriating mouth of hers, spouting all sorts of gripe. He wanted to make her be quiet, and he wanted to accomplish said feat with his mouth over hers.

But that would have been a very _very_ bad idea.

So he settled for something a bit more mundane: he gave her what she wanted. As she turned to go Jack clasped her arm, turning her back again. With a pointed glare he splashed a bit more on her arm, and they both watched the wounds re-knit in amazement.

Fascinated, Jack watched the rivulets of water run down her arms, gathering in drops at her fingertips.

It hurt him to watch the precious stuff just dripping away.

 _Leave it, mate_ , he told himself.

Apparently, he could take orders from no one, not even himself.

He found himself reaching for her hand, his body seeming to move of its own accord.

Elizabeth watched with fascination and something like fear, as Jack raised her hand to his mouth, slipping one long finger between his lips. It caused something to instantly clench, deep in her belly. She might have protested, could she have found her voice. As it were, she could only watch wide eyed and open mouthed, as the most delicious sensations ran havoc down her spine.

 _Not fair, Jack Sparrow_ , she thought. _You never play fair_.

He moved to take yet another finger into his mouth, eyes trained on hers all the while, but she spoiled his mischief, pulling away slowly.

Remembering his earlier resolution, he let her go.

So much for keeping her at arm’s length. That took precisely…one hour, he mused with frustration.

“That’s quite enough, Jack,” she said, meaning to sound stern, but knowing her voice betrayed her desire.

When is it really ever enough, she asked herself. When had she _ever_ truly had her fill of the pirate captain?

“Waste not want not, luv. And its _Captain_ Jack.”

“Is it still, even when you’ve lost your ship once again?” she asked innocently, only the wicked sparkle in her eyes indicating that she was ribbing him.

Jack narrowed his eyes, in no mood to take guff from this troublesome girl, even if she was a Pirate King. “And is it still _Mrs. Turner,_ even though your husband’s gone off for a decade?” he quipped back

Immediately he wished he could take it back, as he watched the dagger sink home, her face falling. She looked to the deck, kicking at a knot in the decking with the toe of her boot. “You know I’m still married, Jack,” she said quietly, hating the way her heart ached with loneliness in that moment.

She’d felt as though she’d managed to cut out her own heart as well the past five years. It was the only way she’d survived. And now here was Jack, and suddenly she was feeling everything all over again. She loved it and hated it, all at once.

Offering an apology in his own roundabout way, Jack said, “I doubt anyone could blame ye for forgettin’ once in a while, luv. Ten years is a long time to be alone.”

But she hadn’t forgotten. Only Jack made her want to forget.

Bloody pirate.

Elizabeth frowned, lifting that pert little chin to an infuriatingly haughty angle, retreating behind her English wall of ice once more. “I haven’t forgotten, Jack. You’d do well not to either.”

Elizabeth turned on her heel, fleeing her cabin for fresh cool air outside. Five years she’d stayed true to Will, resisting temptations and invitations from James, among others who were decidedly less interesting. But five minutes with Jack Sparrow, and he worked past her hard won armor.

Damn you, Jack, she hissed between her teeth, taking the helm from the steering rope.

Damn you.

Bless you.

Suddenly, despite the carnage she’d just witnessed, with Jack at her side she felt as though everything was going to be all right.

Elizabeth went to take the helm of the Free Swan II, and the instant her fingers wrapped about the pegs she felt better. She looked up at the stars, making a rough evaluation of their course. She could _feel_ her boat beneath her, the pull of the currents on the rudder, the hull cutting through the waves like a butter knife. _Dingy,_ perhaps, but it was _hers_.

They would be back in Jamaica in three days.

It would be a lean journey. She hadn’t packed for the extra days, much less for another person aboard. Luckily, she always made a point to keep plenty of water and rum for grog. After her time on the deserted island with Jack, she never wanted to be without water in the tropics again.

She wondered if Jack could live off Agua de Vida now, or if he still had to eat?

“Ye sailed all this way from Jamaica alone?” asked Jack. She started, not having heard him exit the cabin.

“Yes.”

Jack seemed to consider the fact. Was that consternation she read on his face?

“In this little thing? These waters are infested with—"

“Pirates?” she asked cheekily, amused that Jack would consider their Brethren a threat to her.

“Aye, pirates.”

She lifted her chin in that infuriating way, a little smirk curling her lips. “I’m still the King of the Brethren Court, Jack. What would they possibly do to _me_?”

Jack grimaced inwardly for her bravado. Silly little chit.

“Ye don’t seem to know your subjects very well, your highness,” said Jack. “Happenin’ upon the prize of the prettiest lass in the Caribbean sailing all by her onesies in this miniscule tub of a boat? Bein’ the Pirate King wouldn’t save ye, luv.”

Elizabeth and Jack both froze at hearing his words. Jack cursed himself for the embarrassing slip of his personal assessment of her comely features, and Elizabeth’s heart skipped in her chest, her palms suddenly balmy as a rush of heat spread through her limbs.

She gripped the pegs of the helm more tightly, regarding Jack with those doe eyes that held such a profound sadness these days. Yet now, there was a new glimmer within them. Jack was _worried_ about her, which meant he couldn’t hate her so much after all?

She tried to make light of his comment, looking down at her costume with a derisive smile. Her men’s trousers and top boots, her once soft hands now calloused from work, her once pale skin browned by the sun, and her mane of hair pulled back in a simple queue. “You must be going blind in your old age, Jack. Even if it was ever true, I’m certainly no beauty now.”

Frowning, Jack took a step towards her, and Elizabeth quashed the urge to bolt. She was the Captain of _this_ ship, at least, and she was manning the helm. But when Jack hooked a bejeweled finger beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to his, the most damning thrill galloped down her spine.

“I can see _perfectly_ well, luv,” he assured her.

In that moment the pair felt the atmosphere change between them, like the barometric drop before a storm.

 _And here we go,_ thought Jack with alarm. He’d tried to keep up their usual repartee filled with friendly insults, but his resolve disintegrated alarmingly fast this round. Maybe he was getting soft in his old age.

Maybe Elizabeth just made him that way.

For a long moment neither spoke, caught in each other’s gazes.

A million comments surfaced and sank on Elizabeth’s tongue.

_Jack, I’ve missed you so much._

_Jack, where have you been?_

_Jack, why didn’t you come to me?_

She could bring herself to voice none of it, and the most annoying urge to cry tightened her chest and welled in the corners of her eyes.

James Norrington looked at her this way all the time. As though she really were the most beautiful woman in the world, and it filled her with nothing but pity. But to receive such a look from Captain Jack Sparrow immediately tied up her insides, like snapped rigging thrashed in a storm. He moved her, with just a look.

Swallowing hard, Jack suddenly retreated to the gunwale, looking out at the black sea. “And besides pirates,” he went on, his voice coarse. “There are French and Dutch and the damnable Spanish, who are decidedly worse if they get your mitts on you.”

Elizabeth had heard of the creative tortures the Spanish perfected in the inquisition, and wondered if Jack knew first hand.

“Why Jack,” she said, trying for sangfroid but coming off as rather shaky. “That’s what the chest of Granados in my cabin are for.”

 _Granados,_ named for their resemblance to a pomegranate, were crude but devastatingly effective grenades.

Jack smiled to himself, careful not to let her see, a gold tooth glinting in the moonlight.

“I might have known,” he simply said, and retreated below before he did something ridiculously stupid, like snatch her up in his arms and kiss her senseless.

Blasted girl.

Brave, blasted girl, his Lizzy.

This did not bode well at all.


	8. Chapter 8

Elizabeth and Jack took turns manning the helm. The lass did well, Jack noted, though he didn’t dare say it aloud. But on the close of the second day he was snoozing in the shade of the mainsail, and felt the boat lurch leeward a bit too far.

He looked up to see Lizzy leaning upon the helm, her eyes closed.

He realized then that for the whole two days he had not actually seen the girl sleep. It seemed if he wasn’t watching her, then she was watching him. She watched him like a student eager to absorb the teachings of the master, and Jack maybe enjoyed it a little too much.

When Elizabeth came to, she woke feeling an almost unknown sensation of warmth and security. She blinked, and realized her head was cradled on a masculine shoulder, a strong arm around her, resting upon the helm. When she realized it was Jack’s shoulder she straightened with a start, a surprised “Oh,” escaping her lips.

“I know it’s your turn to steer the ship, but ye tried to turn us back to Hispaniola, so I thought I would take over,” Jack teased with a Puckish grin.

Elizabeth blinked quickly, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I haven’t slept…” In days. Which usually didn’t matter to her. She would go through bouts of insomnia frequently, and preferred wakefulness to her nightmares.

She realized this was the first time in a long time she’d had a pleasant dream. Just fragments remained in her memory.

“I was dreaming of the Pearl,” she said, voice airy with the memory.

Jack’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Ye weren’t steering her, were ye?”

She laughed a little for the jealousy in his tone. “No, you were,” she assured him. “We were going…” Where were they going? She realized she didn’t know. It hadn’t mattered. They were just _going._ “Away,” she finished wistfully, and immediately wished she could retract the confession.

Jack’s black eyes bored into her, filled with equal parts alarm and intrigue.

He’d had that dream before too, more times than he could count.

“Why don’t ye go down for a kip,” he said, nodding towards the cabin below. “I think ye need it.”

Grateful for the opportunity to flee without further embarrassing herself, Elizabeth nodded. Even in the Caribbean heat, she felt rather cold when she left the circle of Jack’s arms. “You know the way?” she asked, and immediately realized what a stupid question it was.

Jack raised an eyebrow, confirming as much.

“Sorry,” she sighed, and began to make her way down. “Wake me when we’re near Jamaica,” she called as she descended. “We won’t use the Port Royal harbor. I have my own cove to anchor that’s closer to my house, and it would be best if the whole town didn’t see you. You do have a reputation still, Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Jack seemed puzzled. “Ye don’t live in town?”

She offered a sad little smile, and Jack was surprised that his heart ached for her in that moment. “I’m quite the outcast myself now, I’m afraid.”

Jack could just imagine the vicious whispers of the “ _good_ _citizens_ ” of Port Royal, after a Lady returned from an adventure the likes of which Lizzy had. Cavorting with pirates. The sole survivor. Married, but where was the husband? What did she tell people? Surely not the truth of the Flying Dutchman and its cursed captain.

“M’sorry, luv.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not. Devil take them, they all bored me to tears anyway.” Her lips curled in a mischievous grin, and in that moment he saw not the young woman who had borne so much hardship and disappointment, but the girl he’d known _before_. The fearless and lively lass who would reel barefoot in a circle about a bonfire chanting a pirate ballad, bottle of rum in hand.

 _Blasted_ _girl_ , he thought for the umpteenth time. _Stop being so_ …

So what?

He didn’t know, and with a frisson of fear he knew he didn’t want her, or this, whatever _this_ was, to stop at all.


	9. Chapter 9

The pair slipped into Elizabeth’s harbor just as the sky was beginning to turn gray with the coming dawn.

First Elizabeth thought it best to check in with Norrington, and to make a plan. If Francisco and his ship full of devils had not beat them to Jamaica, he needed to make the fort ready for an onslaught. Jack had a few ideas of how to prepare their defense.

“I can’t say I’m too fond of the idea of paying the Commodore a visit,” said Jack. “I doubt the years have tempered his nasty lil’ dislike of my humble person.”

“Don’t be a coward, Jack,” Elizabeth teased and traipsed past the pirate. They had to get to James’ house before true dawn, when the town would awaken to start another day, _completely_ _identical_ to the one previous.

Jack made a face at her back. “I resent that, your _highness_.”

Elizabeth was glad her back was turned to Jack. He couldn’t see the obvious pleasure she took in being referred to by her pirate title once again, written across her face.

“Say it with a smile, Jack. You’re the one who voted me King, _after_ _all_.”

“Only out of necessity,” he defended. “And don’t think I haven’t regretted it. You’ve been impossible to live with ever since...”

“It doesn’t seem to matter anymore,” she said glumly. Her days of mad hijinx on the sea seemed to have slipped away, with the green flash of the Dutchman leaving her world, returning to its own and taking her husband with it.

“It might come in handy again, someday,” mused Jack. It was an offhand remark, but Jack’s remarks were never so random as they appeared. It made her wonder what kind of authority she might still wield within the Brethren Court, but before she could ask they arrived at the commodore’s less than humble abode. It was a mansion nearly the size of the governor’s, a huge house for a man to occupy alone.

She knew the way quite well, and the hiding spots for all the keys, to the gate and the front door. James would be expecting her for their early morning session de sabre, and hopefully would not even realize she had been gone.

“Someone’s right familiar with the way in to the Commodore’s home,” insinuated Jack. “Perhaps our little Lizzy has not been quite so lonely as she makes herself out to be...”

“Stow it, Jack. We --”

“Elizabeth!” She found herself interrupted by the Commodore, and obviously quite a relieved one at that. So much for slipping away unnoticed. James rushed across the foyer, crushing her in an unexpected embrace. “Thank God you’re alright.”

He leaned back, cupping the side of her face with his hand as though he simply couldn’t believe she was alive and well. Ironic, for she assumed he knew nothing of the scrape she’d just gotten herself out of. “I saw what is left of Puerto Moreas. The Padre was right, it was an absolute massacre, and not by human hands. I went to see you when I arrived back and when you weren’t there. You’ve been gone for days! I thought the worst--” He crushed her in another hug. Over James’ shoulder Elizabeth looked to what Jack thought of this uncharacteristic display of emotion from James.

Jack merely raised an eyebrow, a seemingly knowing smirk in place, his dark eyes laughing at her silently. She could hear him already. _Just friends, luv?_

“Easy there, former Commodore,” said Jack, feeling he’d waited long enough for James to express his gushing love-sick-puppy emotions to the fullest extent. “She is a _married_ woman, after all. Watch those mitts.”

James drew back, but a hand still rested on Elizabeth’s arm. “What is _he_ doing here?” he demanded with disdain.

“Jack’s going to help us get rid of these vampires,” said Elizabeth confidently.

James eyed the pirate with the most skepticism he could muster. “Indeed? We’ve hung quite a few pirates already this year, Captain Sparrow. Brave of you to return to Port Royal.”

Jack gave an infuriating little bow, doffing his cap. “It would be in extremely bad taste t’hang a man for his past indiscretions when he has returned to said port with the intention of lending a hand.”

Truth be told, Jack still wasn’t sure what the devil Elizabeth thought _he_ could do about it all. Sometimes the faith she put in him could be quite daunting. He’d always made a point to keep his life free of anyone he might fail. Funny how the lass threw all his hard won plans to the wind, again and again.

James narrowed his eyes, clearly still considering seeing Jack to the gallows. Perhaps he was no longer the Commodore, but he could still very easily see it done with just a flick of his finger.

“James,” said Elizabeth in her most placating tone, placing a hand upon the former Commodore’s arm. Immediately James softened, and Jack rolled his eyes heavenward.

Never mind she had the very same effect upon the pirate too.

Elizabeth went on, “I too saw the massacre at Puerto Moreas, and then a personal eyewitness account of the subsequent attack, on Tortuga.”

“Tortuga? How did you get there? What were you doing in that cesspool of human filth? ”

“Oi!”

Both ignored Jack’s outcry. “Looking for someone who would know something about our supernatural foe.”

James looked to Jack. “And you found _him_?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose there were no churches to take shelter in, in Tortuga, godless lot that you are.” James’ tone was snide, taking a stab, but in truth after his experience with the other side, he couldn’t really even truly say he believed in a God these days. Not the way the Bible told it, at any rate.

“Churches don’t help much mate, when the beasties burn them down around you.”

James’ expression darkened with the thought. “Are we next?” He concealed his fear well, as a seasoned navy officer, but Elizabeth could still see the dread in his eyes.

“Dunno,” said Jack. He looked around the room in an annoying pause, building the suspense. “But the chief vampire, Don Francisco de Vargas, seems t’have taken _quite_ a liking to our Lizzy here. Perhaps we should expect it.”

Jack turned to see the effect of his revelation, and was pleased to see Norringon’s face turn just a shade paler.

Elizabeth didn’t appreciate the delight Jack took in torturing Norrington. “Don’t exaggerate, Jack, he didn’t want my blood any more or less than the others out of the street.” She glared at the pirate, who merely deflected her disapproving stare with a gold glinting smile.

“It does bring us to the point, though, James. The vampires could come here tonight, or any other after. You must prepare the fort.”

“How? How does one prepare for such an onslaught?” lamented James, thinking of what he’d seen at Puerto Moreas.

Jack recognized his cue. Best make himself _seem_ useful, lest Norry still had a thought to lock him in irons. Helping himself to a quill upon James’ desk, Jack began to draw upon a blank sheet of letter parchment.

It was soon apparent that it was a plan of the fort.

“How do you know the battlements so well?” asked James suspiciously, but Jack only shrugged with a smirk.

Once upon a time a great deal of gold had been locked up in the fort. As a younger man Jack had plotted to steal it. But then the Aztec gold lead had come up, and history was written from there.

“’Been locked up there a time or two,” was all he would say. “Jack pointed to one of the towers at the mouth of the harbor. “For whatever reason, they can’t cross water, and they sink like a stone. They’ll have to anchor their ship and take longboats ashore. Put extra cannons here. Sink the flagship before they have a chance to disembark and you’ll be sittin’ pretty.”

Norrington nodded, an eyebrow raised. What Jack suggested was, essentially, elementary defense of a harbor town. Happy to play the skeptical and snide Commodore once more, he looked to Elizabeth. “And you sailed all the way to Tortuga for this?”

Elizabeth looked to Jack, a small smile curling her lips.

She’d sailed literally to the end of the world for Jack once. A few days jaunt to Tortuga seemed like nothing at all.

Despite the danger looming over their heads, she found that she felt undeniably…happy.

She lifted her chin at James, pouring all her hard won training as an unaffected English lady into her tone.

“If you insist on being rude, James, we will simply leave.”

Jack watched the exchange with interest, dark eyes glittering with amusement.

Immediately, Norrington’s expression fell, especially vexed that Elizabeth’s use of the world _we_ did not include she and he.

It included she and Jack.

Nothing had changed at all, it seemed.

The former commodore effectively cowed, Elizabeth looked to a map of their island upon the wall. She gestured to the more deserted stretches. “What if they anchor somewhere else off the island?” asked Elizabeth, her stomach sinking like a stone for the thought. “They were devilishly fast, I imagine they could make it here in a night with time to spare to cause trouble.”

Jack made a face as though he’d tasted something nasty. “If it comes to a land battle, they don’t appreciate a mortal wound, but t’kill ‘em requires a good ol’ fashioned beheading. Start with arming your soldiers with crosses, fire, weapons of a decapitative choppy chop nature. And I haven’t seen it for me self, but an ol’ bokor told me they don’t appreciate bein’ stuck with silver. If ye’ve got any layin’ about, I’d say start casting it into musket balls an’ grape shot.”

James’ eyes went wide. He didn’t think the townspeople would appreciate being asked to donate their silver to the cause, even for the defense of their own city. “That may prove difficult.”

Jack shrugged. “Your funeral, mate.” He gestured towards the town through the window with wiggling fingers. “Or theirs.”

The former commodore sighed. “Very well. What else?”

“Ye can put the priests on this island to some use for once. Have them consecrate the fort. Make it holy ground that the vampires cannot cross. If they do strike, have the townspeople evacuate there.” Jack tapped his chine pensively. “They also might not like hot tar bein’ poured on ‘em. It’s a bit medieval, but it could keep ‘em from scalin’ the walls.”

James nodded, thinking he had a busy day ahead of him.

“I always thought vampires were just another myth. I should know better by now, shouldn’t I?”

Jack shrugged. “Anything’s possible in this ol’ world, mate.” Elizabeth paid him an extra long look. He was thinking about his Agua de Vida, no doubt, stashed away in his sash.

James stood from his chair, a sudden aire of purpose about him, his old Naval Commander-self peeking through. “I must begin immediately then,” he said, no doubt a list of all the things he had to accomplish before the sun set running through his mind. And there was a haunted look in his eyes, no doubt remembering the carnage of Puerto Moreas.

He shook his head, as though the image could be cleared off so easily. It won’t be Port Royal, he assured himself. _I will see to it_. He wished he felt as confident as the voice in his head.

As Elizabeth and Jack made for the exit, Norrington stopped Elizabeth with a gentle hand on her arm. “When night falls, will you come here?” he asked quietly, although there could be no hiding his request from the eavesdropping ears of Jack. “I would feel better if I knew you were safe.”

His eyes were mournful, fearful, and Elizabeth hated that she was only going to compound upon his discomfort. “Probably not, James,” she said truthfully.

James looked to Jack suspiciously, who only raised his eyebrows, not relieving any questions at all. “Why not?”

Elizabeth sighed. “I’m not a child who must be minded. My house is out of town, its probably the safest of the lot, if the vampires come to feed. If I hear the fort bell, I will come.”

Nodding resignedly, James knew he couldn’t change her mind. She’d become even more hard headed these days. Was that what the title of Pirate King did to a woman? No, he was certain it was simply _her_.

“And where’s _he_ going to stay?” asked James, shooting an icy glare in Jack’s direction.

“On his ship,” Elizabeth smoothly lied. James didn’t know Jack had lost the Pearl again, and there didn’t seem to be any reason for his need to know.

Stealthily, Jack and Elizabeth slipped out of the commodore’s mansion, and through the back streets, hoping to go unnoticed.


	10. Chapter 10

Finally they quit the sprawl of the city, and walked along a well-worn path lined by high grass on both sides. “So seein’ as I don’t really ‘av me ship at this point, and Port Royal’s not exactly been friendly to blokes of my professional persuasion...”

“Don’t be silly, Jack, of course you’ll stay with me,” said Elizabeth, feeling suddenly quite _possessive_ of the wayward Captain. She found the thought that he possibly _wouldn’t_ filled her with an undefinable anxiety. Quickly she covered her eagerness, glancing back at Jack with a smirk. “If you dare, that is? I might feed you to a Kraken when you’re not looking.” Jack merely narrowed his eyes at her, and she laughed, enjoying being able to get under his skin. “Unless you eat that Agua de Vida for breakfast now, _Captain_ , I’d be happy to treat you to a meal or two.”

However, Elizabeth’s slip did not escape Jack’s notice. Worse yet, he had to clamp down on the urge to grin from ear.

“Sounds highly agreeable, luv.”

Jack noticed Elizabeth picking flowers along the way, but thought little of it.

After that the trail began to wind uphill, and Jack had little breath to make any remarks, smart or otherwise. Elizabeth, on the other hand, traipsed as though the path’s incline affected her not, well used to it by now. She went along with her plucking of tropical flowers, the whole way up. Finally, they reached a clearing at the top of the bluff.

“You weren’t joking when you said you live at the edge of town,” Jack wheezed. “You’ve got ol’ Jack feelin’ his age with that climb.”

Elizabeth laughed a little, and Jack stiffened with surprise as she took his hand in hers. It was warm, and soft, and her long fingers laced so perfectly between his own. “I think you’ll find it’s worth the exertion once you see the view. Come on.”

She tugged him to follow her, and in that moment Jack knew what James must have felt earlier. In that moment, Jack knew he was utterly lost to her. That all his previous intentions of holding her at arm’s length just went up in smoke.

He wanted Elizabeth. He always had, and he was surrendering now to the devil inside that whispered wickedly what he should do to make her his, even if only for a day.

Surely after all they’d been through, the whelp could be so generous as to allow him just one day?

Oblivious to the war raging within Jack’s heart, Elizabeth led him to the edge of her clifftop plateau. The waters of the Caribbean stretched out below, a great glittering blue roiling blanket, sparkling and breathtaking to behold. At least two hundred feet below, the waves crashed against the sheer cliff face, a familiar and comforting sound.

The salt sprayed breezed lifted Jack’s hair from his shoulders, and he smiled for the feel of the familiar wind upon his face. To Elizabeth’s surprise he squeezed her hand in his, and they stood there for quite some time, content with the view and the company, even if they couldn’t quite admit it aloud.

“Quite a view, luv.” said Jack, quite sincere for once.

“It’s no crow’s nest, or view from behind a helm, but it suits me for now.”

“For now, eh?”

“Aye,” she sighed. “For now.”

Eventually Elizabeth slipped out of his grasp, retreating to a rock at the edge of the yard, and rested her now large handful of flowers upon it. Dozens and dozens of old and dried out blossoms lay below it, almost like a grave. But the rock didn’t look like a tombstone to Jack. An altar? Had Elizabeth taken up a hobby of witchcraft as well? It didn’t seem likely.

Jack siddled up behind her, watching curiously. “What’s with the rock?” he asked.

Elizabeth pursed her lips hesitantly, weighing whether or not she really wanted to answer. She’d never spoken of it to anyone, and yet she felt the strongest urge to tell the tale to Jack.

Finally, she decided to go ahead with it, staring out at the endless waters, not wanting to look at his eyes. It was too much.

“It’s a...memorial stone, Jack. Will and I...made a child. But I lost it, early on. Three months after he’d left me. _Too active for my own good_ said the doctor. Too many long walks on the beach. But I think it just wasn’t meant to be. One day for no seeming reason at all I started bleeding. I bled and bled and a piece of me went with it I will never get back.

“I wonder if it would have been a boy or girl sometimes. Sometimes I am so relieved that it did not happen. I cannot truly imagine how I would have managed a child, by myself. I know women do, I know it is possible--but perhaps I am wicked, and selfish. Sometimes I am just glad. I decided to leave it all behind. I moved here, to be alone and do exactly as I please.”

She turned on her heel to go to the house, but before she could get far a warm firm hand gripped her upper arm, stopping her in her tracks, turning her back. She looked up to those intense black eyes, searching. For what? She did not know. But she felt that his knowing gaze could pierce straight through her, straight to her soul. _What?_ She demanded in her head, but the terse word died on her tongue.

“M’sorry, luv,” he said quietly. No hint of mockery, no teasing, no joke. Just Jack. A serious Jack. Well, that was depressing.

She could have stood anything but sympathy, especially from him. Biting her lower lip, she held back the tears, held back the choking sensation she felt at the back of her throat.

“S’no easy thing, luv, raisin’ a brat by yer onesies. Me own mum tried, and look how I turned out.” He tried to make a joke of it, and she offered the barest of smiles.

“She didn’t do such a bad job, Jack. I imagine she was a very strong and brave woman. Braver than me.”

Jack shook his head, a strange and niggling little pain surfacing in his chest. He had not thought of his mother in God knew how long. It hurt. It all just hurt, and he tried not to think serious thoughts.

Ever.

Usually he managed to keep them at bay with rum. Hopefully, Elizabeth had a stash of good ol’ fashioned kill devil in the house so he could stop rambling like a damned fool. He hadn’t gone this long without a drink for a long time

“She would have laughed with delight to hear a Pirate King say it,” he found himself saying. He could remember his mother’s laugh. It was the one of the few things he could really remember, truth be told. Her laugh, and soft kisses upon his forehead. She’d called him Jackie. He’d been the eldest of her pack of brats, crammed in a little sailor’s shack in Portsmouth.

He’d left home very young to find work as a cabin boy, to give the others a chance at getting enough gruel in their bellies. He’d spent his tenth awful English winter without shoes, and decided it would be his last. He still had odd feeling in his pinky toe from the frost bite. Sometimes it tingled, and sometimes he could stick it with the point of a knife and not feel it.

His fate as a man of the sea was written from there.

Elizabeth tilted her head to regard Jack, surprised to hear him speak of something so real as his mother. It was hard to imagine such a legend of a man having something so normal as a _mother._ Didn’t he spring from the skull of a deity, or emerge fully formed from the sea foam?

It was endearing, and made her want to know more of his past. Not the stories, though they were fun, but the _truth._ She had a feeling he would lock her out of the fortress shortly, however.

“Me point is, luv, what’s happened happened and sometimes there’s nothin’ to be done. Doctors love to lay the blame at a woman’s feet, but I’m sure it weren’t yer fault. After all you’d been through…these things just happen. Er--ye can’t blame yerself.”

He was rambling, and Devil knew he was no expert on childbirth, though he’d picked up a thing or two hanging around the tarts--mainly he wanted to see that pain go from Elizabeth’s eyes, and he knew the usual pleasant placations wouldn’t do with her.

Elizabeth frowned, absorbing his words, wanting to believe them. “It’s hard not to blame yourself, Jack,” she finally sighed. “I was so _angry_ for a time. Angry, and empty. I tried going to the church in Port Royal. It used to bring me some solace as a girl, but I found myself surrounded by people in the pew, yet completely alone, and trying so hard not to laugh out loud at the sermons. The minister, the flock, none of them had any idea what _real life_ is like. What’s _out there._ Their little holy book is full of fairy tales, it doesn’t apply to half of what I’ve seen and done and had to do. Do you ever feel that way, Jack? So alone, because you’ve seen so much?”

Pressing his lips, Jack found himself nodding. He was a sailor and a pirate and had been an outcast for most of his adult life. It was not where he’d expected their morning to go at all. Down this damnable path of truthiness. “I know what ye mean, luv,” he said sadly, wanting a swallow of rum more than ever.

Elizabeth recognized that he was trying to make her feel better, and making himself quite uncomfortable in the process, and she wasn’t helping matters.

Yet somehow, saying something true rather than the usual prattle to someone who understood _did_ help, more than anything else ever had.

“Thank you , Jack.” She squeezed his arm, and hoped he knew just how much she meant it. “But it’s alright now.” She waved at the stone. “This is my little way to remember it wasn’t all a bad dream. I’m…happy now.”

Jack raised one dark eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “Are ye?”

She looked around the yard, to the sea, anywhere but his eyes. But she truly considered his question. Well, was she? Finally, she bobbed her head, minutely. “Most of the time, yes. I like this,” she said, waving towards her house. It was small, simple, white washed and blinding in the morning sun, for strings and strings of seashells hung as a curtain on the porch, and lined the walkway, and the bougainvillea bushes out front. Their pink and white blossoms exploded in a froth of color. A few chickens scratched about the front yard, clucking the morning gossip. “This is mine, completely _mine._ No husband to wait on, no brats to run after. Just _mine_. I think you understand, don’t you, Jack.”

It wasn’t really a question.

And yes, he understood her, perfectly well. _Peas in a pod, luv_. Looking down at her, this changed and hardened yet suddenly infinitely even more interesting woman, Jack knew he didn’t have to say it aloud.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she offered, linking her arm with his and pulling him towards the house. “Tell me about your mother.”

Jack sighed, almost inaudibly. “I don’t remember much about her,” he admitted. “I left home very young. She passed of a fever, many years ago.”

“I don’t really remember my mother either,” Elizabeth confessed. “She died giving birth, and my father was never the same afterwards. I think he blamed himself. They were a love match, not an arranged marriage. It was something of a scandal in London, for a season anyway. I think that’s why my father was so accommodating of my marriage with Will.”

She smiled wistfully, thinking of her stodgy periwigged father as a younger, brasher man, madly in love and making some grand romantic gesture, spiriting away with her mother and causing London society to howl. God, how she missed him.

For a time she’d watched the shores after James’ return, hoping her father too would wash up someday, another gift from the sea.

It never happened. Perhaps he was too old? Perhaps he’d been ready to go to the other side? She would never know. Eventually she gave up hoping she could see him again, cauterizing the wound in her heart with so many others, so that she would not bleed dry.

“Ah.” Jack could see that she expected him to say something about his own parents. A sweet love story between Teague the pirate and his doting Ma. It didn’t exist. As a child Jack hadn’t been sure what was worse, when his Da was away at sea and they lived dirt poor, or when the ol’ man came home with his wages and spent most of it on whiskey. He would knock Jack around for the slightest offense, such as looking his way. And Jack took it, because the others were too little. When the children went to bed it would be his Ma’s turn for the same.

Jack did remember the sound of his mother crying.

Jack never wanted to be like his Da, but fate has a way of passing that curse from father to son. In the end, he’d become a pirate too. A better one, maybe, but a pirate none the less.

“I s’pose me Mum and Da were in love at one point, but a hard life chipped away at that. She was a good woman, me Ma, but Da was no good for her, m’fraid.”

Elizabeth frowned, thinking she’d brought up a happy subject, and finding she’d tripped into another mire. “Captain Teague seemed rather charming, at Shipwreck Cove.”

“Aye, he’s a charmer,” Jack agreed. “A charmer and a devil underneath it all. His soul is black as char. Make no mistake about that, luv.”

Sensing that Teague had made Jack’s childhood not a happy one, the Pirate King squared her shoulders. “Then tell me, what shall be his punishment for mistreating you? I shall address it at our next convening of the Brethren Court.”

Jack chuckled for the thought, patting Elizabeth’s hand upon his arm. “I don’t think bein’ a bad father’s a punishable offense among the Breathren, dearie. You’d have t’hang them all.”

“Hmm,” was all she said, and a chill ran down his spine as he realized she was considering just that.

“Or y’could feed ‘em to a Kraken.”

A slight smile curled her lips. “Jack, I only do that to pirates I like.”

In a rare moment, Elizabeth seemed to have managed to stupefy Captain Jack Sparrow. They closed the distance to the front porch in silence.

“How do fresh eggs sound? My girls should have a few waiting for us.”

“Girls?” Jack asked, paying her a quizzical look. Had Lizzy become a madame without him knowing it?

“My hens,” she clarified, laughing a little, and the dark cloud above them began to lift.

Jack’s stomach grumbled. He would eat Agua de Vida for breakfast if he could, but unfortunately the life giving waters just had no substance to them.

“Lead the way, luv.”


	11. Chapter 11

The house was small, but clean. Cozy. The dimensions of the space rather reminded him of a great cabin. The floorboards did not creak as they crossed them, and all the lines were straight and true. It was not a house of brick like the English style abodes in town, but of wood. Wood that would give a little when the frequent earthquakes shook the ground beneath them.

“Who built the house?” asked Jack, wondering who she’d bought the place from. Who else would wish to live like a hermit up on the cliff, a steep walk from town?

“I did,” she answered, taking off her coat.

“ _You_?” Jack exclaimed with disbelief, imagining her hauling timbers and sinking pegs all by her onesies.

Elizabeth laughed for his incredulous expression. Twice in one day she managed to dumfound Captain Jack Sparrow. “Well, I paid a local shipwright to do it. A fine job he did, too,” she commented, patting a wall with affection.

Jack considered the cottage, and what a change it was from the Governor’s mansion she once occupied. He wondered if the downgrade was a necessity or a choice. Not many would gladly give up the life of luxury Elizabeth once led, yet the girl was just full of surprises. She had different priorities than most. “Quite a change from the surroundins ye was used to,” he pried a little, eyeing a knickknack upon the mantle. It was a whale tooth ocarina used by sailors for entertainment. Blowing out a few notes, he smiled with satisfaction.

“I prefer it,” she confessed, wondering if indeed Jack was inquiring as to the state of her finances. Was he worried she was close to ruin, or curious where she kept the gold? Either seemed possible. “There’s really no such thing as privacy when there are servants around, and being waited on has always made me a little uncomfortable. Besides, with father gone I couldn’t very well remain in the Governor’s mansion. I stayed at his cane plantation for a time, but that didn’t agree with me either.”

“Oh? I didn’t know the guvnor had his fingers in the cane pie.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Father liked to diversify, I suppose. The governor’s stipend is a pittance compared to the yield from the cane. But oh Jack, it’s so terrible. The way they treat the slaves…it made me sick to have a direct hand in it. After looking over the books for the plantation and seeing the profit margins I asked the overseer why we couldn’t just _pay_ the Africans a decent wage to work for us. You would think I proposed I hang all the good citizens of Port Royal. He quickly suggested that I should let a _man_ handle my affairs.”

Jack was not surprised to hear that Elizabeth had a head for sums, but the talk of slavery inspired a familiar lurch in Jack’s gut. It was a nasty business, and he’d seen it from far too close. “It would cause an up risin’ on the whole island, if just one plantation started payin’ decent,” said Jack, understanding the mind of men like the overseer all too well.

“Yes. I was soon after invited to dinner with the new governor, Sir Buckley, to address this silly little notion of mine. I was informed it would be quite _illegal_ to pay the slaves. When I asked to see the law in writing I was also informed that I would be tried as a criminal or removed from the island for initiating such _an absurd trifle._ ” Elizabeth sighed. It had been the beginning of the end of her interest in taking part in Port Royal society. “So I decided to sell the plantation to a neighbor. The slaves would have gone with it, so I went under the cover of night to their quarters, and offered to evacuate anyone who wanted to leave. And out of all of them, only _ten_ stepped forward. All young men.”

Jack thought of the terrible punishments devised for runaway slaves, and understood that all too well too. Being beaten bloody and burned alive from the feet up was a horrible fate.

“You yourself could have been hanged fer that, Lizzy,” he said, looking at another bauble on a shelf so that she would not see the alarm on his face, thinking of the danger she’d faced alone. This one was a chased sterling lantern, covered in repousse designs of waves and sea monsters. The bottom was weighted, so that it would always remain upright. He poked it, watching it wobble back and forth. It bore an ornate monogram of EMS.

Jack wondered what the M stood for. Mary? Margaret? Maria? He realized that he very much wanted to know. He wanted to know everything about her.

“I didn’t care. A few of the men knew their way around a boat, so I…I gave them the Free Swann and a heading for Tortuga.” Jack blinked, turning to face her once more. She hadn’t had an _accident_ with her first boat. She’d done something dangerous and honorable with it. Maybe she was the Pirate King, but there was a streak of the whelp in her too.

“Ye could ‘ave told me, luv. What happened to the Free Swann the First.”

“I know, Jack. I suppose I’m just in the habit of _not_ talking about the whole affair, as I’m sure you can imagine why.” Elizabeth continued, “The boat couldn’t make an ocean crossing, it wasn’t big enough, and the only other occupation I could think of that they could take part in without being pressed again was to become pirates. A search was made, but no one found. The overseer suspected me, of course, but what could he really do? I sold the plantation after that, and used some of the money to buy this land.” Lizzie gestured around. All Jack could see through the windows was yard, lined by jungle, and blue mountains in the distance. It must have cost pennies compared to the arable land useable for cane crops.

In other words, she was sitting pretty, and he was glad to hear it. Will wasn’t exactly sending any coin home, and there wasn’t much left to a woman forced to fend for herself. The thought of Lizzy taking part in some of the more sordid professions of a solitary woman made his stomach drop like a stone.

“Yer obviously a little daft but I’m proud of ye, Lizzy. That took a set o’ cods any sailor I know would be envious of.” Jack paid her an appraising look, punctuated by his characteristic leer. “Ye haven’t got any, have ye?”

Laughing, Elizabeth smacked his arm. “No, thank you very much. Everyone else thought I was daft too, buying this mountain. But I think someday it will be very good for growing coffee. I’ve been experimenting with some Arabica seeds from Cuba, and the plants are doing exceptionally well so far.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her enterprising nature. “How did ye get seeds from Cuba?” he asked, a little afraid of the answer. He imagined her sailing into Santiago, an unfriendly Spanish port where it was illegal to trade with anyone but Spain herself, with that tiny little boat of hers. He imagined her blatantly English lion’s mane of golden hair shining in the sun beneath a jaunty tricorn hat, and demanding to buy goods. Ye Gods.

“I bought them from a gentleman unloading a bit of cargo that was seized from a Spanish ship,” she imparted cheekily.

She bought them from a pirate, she meant.

“Ah. But isn’t coffee considered highly uncouth for a lady of your stature? Makes the blue blood turn muddy brown?” he teased. Tea was considered the suitable beverage for the gentile, but Elizabeth liked the heady brew of the red berry very much.

“You can’t be surprised.”

“Not in the least,” Jack affirmed with a grin that glinted gold.

“Perhaps someday I’ll have my own coffee plantation here,” Elizabeth mused. “It will be a cash crop, and I will divide the profits evenly amongst us. I of course, as administrator, will get two shares.”

Like the Captain of a pirate ship.

Her eyes sparkled with the thought as she daydreamed aloud. “And any old pirate who needs a warm place to come ashore may find shelter with their King. We’ll be a merry band of misfits and thumb our noses at the stuffy citizens of Port Royal from atop our beautiful blue mountain. And we’ll have so much bloody money they won’t dare scoff.”

Jack smiled warmly, liking her vision, even if it was a completely unlikely endeavor.

Coffee?

The English were far too in love with their precious bleedin’ tea.

Elizabeth noted his wan little smile. There was a hint of sadness in it, and her spirits fell a bit. “Do you think I’m crazy, Jack?”

“Nah, lass. Just ahead of yer time. The world will catch up in a few centuries or so.”

“Do you think it ever will? That someday slaves will be free, and women will be free, and that men will be able to live free without risking hanging for piracy? That a poor man who works hard can make an honest wage without being treated like scum? That someday people will have power over their own destinies, rather than owing everything to a king who has done nothing in his life but had the luck to be born into the right family?”

“Listen to your seditious talk, Lizzy. I’d be careful who ye let hear ye say such things,” cautioned Jack with a wily smile, loving every treacherous word.

“It’s just you and me, Jack. And you know me better than anyone. You always have.”

Jack grunted uncomfortably, even if he knew it was true. Peas in a pod indeed.

Going on as though she didn’t notice his expression, though it absolutely did not escape her notice, she asked, “Do you ever think about things like that?”

All the time.

And when it got to be too much he knew it was time to visit his old friend Rum.

“Sometimes, luv,” he lied, unsettled by the earnest way she was looking at him. As though she expected some great pearl of wisdom to fall from his lips at any moment.

Yes, it was getting’ high time for that drink.

Jack continued to examine the contents of the room. A painting hung on the wall of a ship sailing ahead of a storm, sails full to the bursting and riding a great wave. He took a step closer, admiring the fine brushwork. He noticed interesting details on the brigantine: black sails, and the colors of a jolly-roger flying high.

It was the Pearl, without a doubt.

A smug little smile curled his lips at the thought of Elizabeth commissioning this from some law abiding bloke in town. It was a small wonder she herself had escaped being branded with that tell-tale P, gatting about with her egalitarian ideals, rocking the boat of the establishment. He felt certain the town must have whispered a great deal after her return from World’s End, and perhaps it too had something to do with her move out to the clifftop cottage.

There were also maps and charts on the walls, and a pair of sleek swords hung above the mantle. Everything about the space spoke of a person who longed to be at sea but was kept from it, and made do in the meantime. The thought made Jack a bit sad. She claimed she was happy. Far as _she_ knew, perhaps she was. But he had a different feeling. Jack had a feeling Elizabeth was simply stuck in _waiting._

Waiting. That perpetual state most people live in, just waiting for life to begin. You silly silly mortals, he thought to himself. When will you realize life will only happen when you reach out and take it for yourself? Grab it greedily and never let go. No one will hand it to you. Pretend to sell it to you, maybe, but never hand it for free. Sometimes fate intervenes...but more often than not, life simply slips away.

Lizzy led him out back where she had a separate cook shed for the stove and kitchen accoutrements. Cooking inside the house was a dubious prospect at best in the tropical heat of Jamaica. Having a cook shed not only kept the house cooler, but reduced the risk of burning the house to the ground.

Jack sat at a roughhewn table in the shade and watched her work. She extracted the prized eggs from a chicken coop beside the shed, having a few words with the hens that milled about her feet. She built a fire in the stove, and soon the air was filled with the smell of frying eggs and salt pork. It was a fine morning indeed.

He liked watching her like this, efficient and confident in her tasks, humming as she went. Not many governor’s daughters could do much of anything for themselves, but Lizzy put the whole lot to shame. He was glad that she’d managed to make such a life for herself here, on her own terms. She seemed content, but for the shade of loneliness in her honeyed brown eyes.

Yet, at this moment, she was in a _very_ good mood for a lass who’d just had a disturbing encounter with a fangy bitey monster, and likely would again sometime soon. Ah, but Jack understood. Jack knew, because he felt it too. An unexpected lightness inside, in the company of an old friend once again.

Blasted girl.

“How are we going to get the Pearl back, Jack?” she asked, bringing forth two plates heaped with sundries and smelling of heaven. Jack’s stomach rumbled. It beat weevil-ridden hard tack, that was for sure.

Jack raised an eyebrow at her use of that word again. _We_. He liked it, far more than he should. _Oi, mate, yer up t’yer eyeballs and sinkin’ fast_. Crazier yet, he wasn’t sure he minded.

“I’ll think of somethin’, darlin’,” he assured her, and they shared a fine meal in the shade.


	12. Chapter 12

Jack watched curiously, as Elizabeth carried water in from the well outside, making to fill a tub. She did not struggle with the buckets as she might have once, with those skinny lass-of-leisure arms. Underneath that shirt Jack suspected she wasn’t just slender and soft but had a bit of muscle.

How unladylike.

The thought made him tingle, just a bit. Oh, just a dangerous, little, _bit._

“Is that for me, luv?” he asked, leaning against the door of the washroom, where Elizabeth was emptying crystal clear water into a hip tub. A kettle with hot water, soap and a sheet lay on a stool nearby.

Elizabeth looked up from her pouring, expression contorted as though Jack had grown three new heads. He smiled mischievously, gold glinting in his mouth in the morning light. He so loved keeping the lass on her toes. “Are you serious?” she asked, when he didn’t burst out laughing heartily at his joke and strut away.

“ ‘Aven’t had a good dip in a while,” he confessed, though utterly without shame. “Not a luxury one has when fresh water is limited on a ship...and I always seem to be busy with getting dirtier when we make port...”

Elizabeth gave a much exaggerated eye roll. She certainly believed _that_.

She siddled up to him, hands clasped behind her back. “If you are serious, I will more than happily relinquish it to you. Jack Sparrow _asking_ to take a bath is not an event to be taken lightly...”

Jack reached up to brush a knuckle under that infuriatingly haughty chin jutting out from her graceful swan neck. “We can make a trade, luv. I’ll wash your back if you wash mine...”

“Could you be so lucky, Captain Sparrow,” she taunted.

Those bee-stung lips curled in a bewitching smile, and it was all he could do not to claim them for his own. He inched closer and closer to the edge, he realized, with every moment he found himself in the company of Elizabeth Swann. Hang it...Mrs. Turner. Well, her husband wasn’t here, was he? In fact, the pointy end of _that_ sword was a whole five years away, till it could next make landfall... Convenient. _Deuced_ convenient.

As long as he stayed on land.

Which wasn’t something he did well.

Bloody hell.

In a quick bounce of footwork she was suddenly several feet away. “Enjoy your bath,” she called over her shoulder, flouncing out of the house with something of a triumphant skip in her step.

He glared at the place in the doorway where she’d just been.

What the bloody hell was he thinking?

_She would stab you just as soon as kiss you, mate._

Pirate.

Pirate King.

 _Very_ interesting.

Jack undressed and tempered the cool water with the kettle, just enough to take the edge off. In the tropical heat of Jamaica, a salty breeze wafting through the open windows, the lukewarm water felt very nice indeed.

He set to work scrubbing himself clean, making use of a sponge and soap that smelled of coconut oil. In very little time the water turned from crystal clear to murky gray.

Some sailors swore up and down that baths were a dangerous endeavor, scrubbing away all the dirt and grime that shielded a man from disease. Jack always found the superstition silly. Jack sat back in the tub, enjoying his moment of cleanliness. The breeze came in off the ocean, stirring the palm trees outside.

True paradise.

Yet something was missing.

He could hear Elizabeth puttering in the other room, singing softly. She was going through her drawers and shelves, gathering up the silver items she owned in the house, just in case. He thought on the breakfast they’d shared, eggs and sausage and tea in china cups, and the unlikely domesticity of the scene. It left him feeling uncharacteristically soft around the edges.

“Lizzy luv?” he called in his most honeyed voice. “Will ye do me the vast and coveted honor of washin’ me back?”

Elizabeth froze as she heard the request from the other room, her heart suddenly pounding for no discernible reason. She’d thought he was joking before. He usually was. It would be terribly improper, and yet she was already in for a penny, cavorting with pirates again.

Not just pirates. _Her_ pirate. The incredible indomitable Captain Jack Sparrow.

Cautiously she put down her dusting rag, and quiet as a mouse she padded into the room off the back of the cottage where Jack bathed. She paused at the sight of him; he appeared to be sleeping, long wiry limbs brown as a nut splayed out over the edge of the tub, a myriad of tattoos and scars in plain view. Hungrily her eyes roamed over him, a hot blush creeping over her cheeks.

She hadn’t seen a man like this since her night on the beach with Will, and even then she didn’t remember _seeing_ much. It filled her with an unexpected heat inside, her palms suddenly balmy in her clenched fists. Only with Jack here did she _feel_ her loneliness like a palpable weight upon her skin.

Eyes closed, his head rested against the back of the tub. The bandana was gone, leaving his wild ropey hair to do as it pleased. Something seemed a little off. He looked years younger, almost angelic, his high cheekbones and strong jaw unadorned by dirt. And then Elizabeth realized that he’d washed away his kohl. It left him less fierce and wild, yet no less beautiful to her.

The latter was an alarming thought.

“Like what you see, luv?” he asked softly, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a smirk.

“I can’t see anything,” she quipped cheekily. “The bathwater is nearly black.”

Jack opened his eyes to find Elizabeth sitting on the stool beside the tub, closer than he’d thought. His own heart did a little skitter about the inside of his chest.

“Aye, I was due fer a wash. But I need yer help t’finish.” He held out the sponge, and much to his great surprise, Elizabeth took it, moving the stool to sit behind him.

She wet the sponge with the water from the kettle, and found her hands were shaking a little.

 _Steady, girl,_ she scolded herself, reaching for the soap. Jack leaned forward, holding his hair out of the way, and Elizabeth went to work. At her first touch a hissing sigh escaped Jack, surprising himself as much as her. It was ridiculous, and a little pathetic, he thought, how badly he wanted her to touch him.

“Too hot?” she asked, afraid she’d hurt him, and afraid she understood the cause of his sigh all too well.

“No, luv. It feels wonderful.” He hoped the tremor that ran through his frame was something only he felt, and couldn’t be seen.

Somehow this gave her an injection of bravery, and she stroked the lathered sponge over his shoulders with hands that no longer shook, fascinated by the contours of his musculature. A round of rinse water from the kettle revealed in stark detail a smattering of long, deep scars that ran across the length of his back. Some were jagged and raised, torn flesh that healed badly.

She knew they had come from a cat o’ nine tails.

She knew the life of a common sailor could be frightfully hard, a man at the mercy of his captain, and sometimes a cruel one. Yet Elizabeth had always hoped, perhaps naively, Jack had not tasted the worse of it.

“Oh, Jack,” she said softly, tracing the scars lightly with the tips of her fingers. They were wicked and raised, and her heart hurt for him in that moment. She would have turned pirate too, after receiving a beating like that.

Jack had forgotten about the scars and the questions they might bring. He’d had them so long he barely saw them, and the doxies had seen so many similar marks on their sailor customers they barely batted a lash.

For a lady like Elizabeth, he imagined it could be a frightful sight.

“S’alright, luv,” he assured her, his voice low and seeming far away. “It happened a _long_ time ago.” And yet a chill still racked his body for the memory.

He really needed a bottle of rum. Life was becoming far too…vivid for his liking.

And the inevitable question came. “What happened to you?”

Jack sighed heavily, leaning back in the tub again.

“I’ll tell ye if you’ll rub me shoulders. I’ve had an awful pain ‘round ‘ere,” he said, waving to his right side with a hand that glittered in the sunlight for all the rings upon it.

He expected her to flee and leave him with his ghosts alone.

Much to his surprise, he felt her hand light upon his shoulder, her long digits drumming upon his collarbone. “Here?” she asked, squeezing his muscle gentle.

Jack groaned with pleasure before he could stop himself. “Aye, there.” Elizabeth watched with fascination as the Captain seemed to melt beneath her massaging hands. It made her feel powerful and wicked, and warm and tingly inside.

“Oh luv,” he said after a while. “You _have_ been to Singapore.”

Elizabeth laughed lightly, enjoying this seemingly innocent contact.

Seemingly.

The thread of tension growing between them did not escape her. She almost wanted to waive her payment of the story, so that he could stay like this, happy and relaxed and not speaking of his demons.

“S’pose you’ll be wantin’ that story now,” he said, his eyes closed once again.

“You don’t have to tell me just now,” she said quietly. Her touch wandered from his shoulders, tracing the long line of his neck, and the graceful curve of his earlobe. There was a piercing in the center, but no earring.

Beneath the black waters, Jack’s abdomen clenched. He knew if she didn’t stop touching him like _that_ he was going to do something a little crazy.

What could be crazier than letting the woman who had killed him have his back?

Plenty. He could think of a few things.

Clasping her hand in his, he squeezed her fingers, and marveled when she didn’t pull away, or try to slap him, or set something on fire…

“I was third mate aboard an East India Trading Company brig,” he started, his voice low and gravely for the memory. “We were supposed to be dealing in tea and spices and silk, that was what I signed on for.”

Elizabeth imagined Jack as a younger man in a clean officer’s uniform, perhaps clean shaven or with a neater beard. Black hair pulled back in a queue, no wild dreadlock waving in the wind. It was an intriguing thought, but seemed too strange to think it could have ever been true.

Jack went on, “But the Captain declared we had a new heading, and in no time we found ourselves off the wretched mosquito infested coast of Africa. We were to make a slave run to stock the Captain’s sugar plantation on Barbados. He didn’t want to pay the exorbitant markup of the traders, and resolved to go right to the source for his latest business endeavor. One of the…captives had tried to hit me, as any man in his right mind would. He was already in shackles, so what more could I do to him? When I did not address it Captain Cutler Beckett decided to give me a lesson in what discipline really is.

“Slaver ships live in constant terror of a slave uprising. There were more of them than us, and as a general rule they were bigger and stronger men. So ol’ Cutler made a public example out of me. Tied me to the main mast and had his quartermaster shred me back with the cat. If the whites were willing to do that to their own, what horrors did the slaves have in store for them if they acted out? It was horribly effective.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure who gripped who’s hand more tightly as he spoke. “Is that why you took the Pearl?” she asked, having heard whispers of this story from Gibbs on the late watch when the old man was in his cups. That Jack had taken the Pearl from the East India Trading Company, and Beckett had hunted him down, set the ship afire. Davy Jones resurrected the beauty from the deep for a hefty price, and she was rechristened the Black Pearl.

“First, I nearly died,” he confessed, shuddering as he remembered the infection and fever. He’d lain in his hammock, at death’s door for days. “But when I pulled out of it, it didn’t take much to convince the rest to mutiny. We put the slaves ashore, the officers off in a longboat, and sailed away with Beckett’s prized flag ship.”

All the slaves but one, he corrected his memory. There had been one bloke who spoke passable English and claimed he had nothing to go home to ashore. His village had been burned, and he had been sold off to the whites by a rival tribe. Kemobe had decided he wanted to see the world instead, and some treasure too. He and Jack had become good friends, and Kemobe had been the one to show Jack how to fix his hair into dreded ropes with beeswax.

Kemobe had been killed in the mutiny staged by Barbossa for the Pearl the first go round. Another reason on a list of many Jack loathed his former first mate.

Jack went on, “Africa was easy pickins. We took slavers all up the coast, until we had the supplies and crew for a crossing t’ the Caribbean.”

“Bravo, Jack.”

He was uncharacteristically quiet for the praise. She stroked his cheek with a finger, turning his wild black gaze back to her. He’d been a thousand miles away. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, and Jack pressed his cheek to her hand.

“Of all the wicked deeds under me belt, bein’ apart of that slaver business is the only thing I’ve done that was truly evil. That’s the thing I’ll burn for someday.”

“But Jack, you didn’t know. You didn’t sign on for it. You were following orders, and in the end you set them free.”

“Aye, but I helped load the boat with ‘em, and I’d say a third died o’ pure fright before we even set sail. Me hands ain’t clean, luv.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she soothed, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Jack.”

The pirate, however, shook his head. “M’really not, darlin’. Maybe I ain’t as wicked as some, but it don’t make me good. You’d best remember that.”

Elizabeth knew that she should retreat, yet something held her there with Jack. She could have moved a mountain more easily than her own person at that moment. A delicious shiver ran down her spine as she leaned forward, resting her chin on Jack’s shoulder. His skin was smooth and warm, the muscle taut beneath, and he now smelled deliciously of her coconut milk soap. She fought the urge to lick her lips, as though she wanted to take a bite of him.

For a moment Jack could not hide the surprise on his features, dark brows shooting sky high. He quickly adjusted, lowering one brow, the corner of that wicked mouth curling upwards. He weighed her with that dark gaze and waited, very curious to see what the Pirate King had in mind.

Finally she spoke, “I see you, Jack.”

“From this close, I should hope so, luv.”

She smiled, and there was a hint of mischief in that curl of lips that caused Jack’s guts to twist. Part in fear, but mostly, oh _mostly,_ with longing.

“No, I mean, _I see you_. You can’t hide from me. I know who you really are. The legend of Captain Jack Sparrow is mighty good fun, but I think I prefer the man himself.”

The pirate’s heart dropped like a stone. He felt the urge to bolt just then, an uncomfortable tingle prickling over his skin. Suddenly, he felt that _he_ was the one being hunted, and he didn’t particularly like it.

“This me reward for tellin’ ye something true?” he asked, and there was a sadness in his voice that broke Elizabeth’s heart.

“No.” She sat up a little, her gaze drawn to his mouth. She could think of something he might like a little better than being held under a magnifying glass. Suddenly her heart thundered in her chest; she could hear her pulse in her ears.

She wanted to kiss Jack again.

If she were honest, she would admit that she’d wanted to since laying eyes upon him in the pub in Tortuga.

Jack’s chest rose and fell with a deep breath, searching for oxygen and only getting the soft feminine scent of the woman so close to him. Last time he’d been this close to her, he’d been shackled to the main mast of the Pearl and shortly fed to a Kraken.

Most men would have run screaming.

Leave it to ol’ Cap’n Jack Sparrow to run _into_ the fire.

It seemed she was fresh out of manacles, at least.

Filled with apprehension and anticipation, the pair leaned closer, until mouths hovered a breath away from touching. It was torture, and yet neither of them could quite bring themselves to close that last hair’s breadth.

Suddenly the blast of a loud and piercing crow ripped through the room, startling both Jack and Elizabeth straight into the air.

“Barbossa, you blasted old cock!” shouted Elizabeth at a frightfully large rooster suddenly appeared in the window frame. A comically large red comb folded over the side of his head. It looked rather like the sweeping brim of a hat, and was the cause of his namesake. The bird puffed up his chest, filling its lungs for another deafening crow.

Anticipating the explosion, a livid Elizabeth threw the soggy sponge at the cockerel. It missed its mark, but the chicken scrabbled from the window sill squawking with alarm all the same.

Jack chuckled, equal parts disappointed and relieved for the interruption.

“Ye named the rooster after Hector?” he asked, amused.

“Yes. He’s very annoying. Shall we eat him for supper?”

Laughing again, Jack nodded. “Aye, I like that idea.”

Elizabeth rose to go to the window, looking out. The rooster had crossed the yard, and was holding court with his ladies, chuckling over a bit of grass he fancied that he had provided for them. Roosters and men, they’re only good for one thing, Elizabeth mused with a small smile. Her favorite hen Penelope was broody and would have chicks soon. Barbossa had done his duty, and would soon be put to better use.

She picked up the sponge from the floor.

“He’s not used to having another man around the house,” she mused, looking back over her shoulder. “I think it makes him jealous.”

“I pity any fool who would think he could lord over you like a hen, luv.”

Pleased by the compliment, Elizabeth gave a small curtsy.

It was the first chance Jack had to peruse the costume she’d changed into. When Lizzy wasn’t parading around in men’s clothes it seemed she gatted about in her undergarments. In truth it was a lovely white chemise, light and airy and perfect for the Jamaican heat. It had no sleeves, _quite_ scandalous, and pretty little trims of lace at the collar. Jack liked it immensely, and it made infinitely better sense than trying to wear layers of petticoats and a corset in this heat.

Noting his stare, Elizabeth looked down at her chemise. “I suppose you think me terribly improper,” she said cheekily, obviously pleased with herself.

“Only the English would insist on going about in London fashions in this weather. I like it. Reminds me o’ the island.”

Elizabeth canted her head to regard Jack, surprised. She herself remembered their little desert isle with fondness, for up to that point it had been her best adventure yet, but she’d gotten the impression the pirate had not enjoyed their sojourn quite the same way.

She had burned all the rum, after all.

In truth Jack remembered their marooning with mixed feelings. The proposition of being abandoned alone with a stunning specimen of the female sex and a cache full of rum sounded like a fine time at first. But the shadow had hung over his head, the knowledge of the agony that awaited them a few days without fresh water. He’d dreaded the thought of shooting Elizabeth in an act of mercy, and relished starving to death himself even less.

It had been enough to drive a man to drink _far_ too much.

Elizabeth noted his brooding expression, and misinterpreted it. “I _had_ to burn the rum, Jack. I saved us, you know.”

Jack’s mouth twisted in a wry grin, his dark eyes sparkling again. “Was the thought of one more night alone with me so awful?”

Elizabeth smiled, looking away shyly. “Perhaps if there’d been a source of fresh water, we could have stayed a _little_ longer.”

Jack found himself sitting up a little straighter for the admission, and Elizabeth laughed. “You look like you need a drink, Jack.”

“Aye, now _that’s_ a sane proposition.” He began to stand from the tub, and Elizabeth squealed, covering her eyes and fleeing from the room on fleet bare feet.

There had been far more laughter than terror in her little scream.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this much pure _joy._

It had been her last adventure with Jack, truth be told. He had an uncanny way of making her feel so _alive._ No one else, not even Will, ever managed the same way.

Jack dried himself with the sheet and knotted it firmly about his waist.

Something was changing between he and Elizabeth. It was scary and exciting and wrong and yet felt entirely _too_ right.

He regarded the pile of dirty clothes on the floor dubiously. He didn’t fancy putting them back on again in that state, but nor did he think Elizabeth would appreciate a request to wash them. Shrugging, he picked up the foul smelling pile and the soap, and went to draw more water from the well.

Elizabeth spied on Jack from the window in awe. Never in her lifetime did she think she would see Captain Jack Sparrow doing his own laundry. He looked like a native chieftain with a sarong of the towel knotted about his waist, bare footed, his lean upper body darkly tanned by the sun. She watched the muscles ripple beneath his skin as he worked over the laundry bucket, and felt that damnable heat welling up deep inside her again.

It had nothing to do with the tropical weather.

She’d made her bed. Too bad for her, that maybe it was the wrong one.

Shaking her head sadly, she went to check on the biscuits she was baking for their midday meal.


	13. Chapter 13

Staying at Elizabeth’s humble clifftop cottage agreed with Jack very well, for a stay on land. She’d spoiled him not only with breakfast and a bath, but two more square meals. Soft pillowy biscuits with pineapple jelly for the midday meal had curled his toes. For supper she’d made good on her threat, and turned ol’ Barbossa the rooster into a platter of spicy marinated chicken cooked over a charcoal fire behind the house. It was delicious and savory and he knew it had never been served in the Governor’s mansion.

Jack wondered where she’d picked up her skills for cooking. Most lasses of her upbringing wouldn’t know the first thing about how to even load a stove, but Elizabeth proved resourceful as ever. He knew from her figure alone that she did not normally eat like this, and being treated as a pampered guest in her home made him feel unexpectedly warm inside.

Or perhaps that was the rum.

The bottle sat between them, resting it on the little hand carved wooden table between their chairs on the porch. The horizon was fixing to deliver a fantastic sunset, and contentedly the old friends watched the show together.

Jack remained in his “sarong” for the remainder of the day, claiming that his clothes had to dry. Elizabeth suspected he’d washed them just to parade about half naked, all too privy to the looks she paid him out the corner of his eye.

What she didn’t know was that he watched her much the same way throughout the day.

When she propped her bare feet on the railing before them, exposing a scandalous length of long shapely leg, Jack nearly choked on his swig of rum.

Her hair was damp and brushed away from her face, burnished gold waves curling past her shoulders. She’d taken her own bath after dinner on the sly, and he didn’t know how he missed _that_ opportunity to pay back her earlier accommodation.

He blamed the rum.

And perhaps it was just the rum, but the colors of the horizon were particularly vivid that evening. Pink and orange streaks smeared the sky, reaching out to meet bright purple and blue clouds, a breathtaking splash of color.

Perhaps it was just paradise.

Bugger foggy England. He would take the Caribbean any day.

Initially he was surprised when she reached for the bottle, sniffing the mouth. “Right bottle,” she murmured to herself, and took a healthy swig.

“Yer opinion of this vile drink seems to have changed a great deal since we last met.”

She smiled a little, toying with the mouth of the bottle. “I have a nip or two now and then,” she confessed.

“S’no fun to drink alone, luv.”

Elizabeth smiled mischievously. “Oh, it can be.”

Jack wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but the possibilities stirred him deep down once again.

Blasted girl!

Was she toying with him again? He thought of the island, and the mad bliss of twirling arm and arm about the fire with her. If _this_ could be _that_ , oh just once more, he decided he didn’t care if she burned the rum again.

The lass went on, a lazy little smile curled upon her mouth. “When I sit here with a few swigs in me after a long day I feel as though…some veil has fallen away from the world, and I see things as they really are. Everything is beautiful, and the absurd little details of life suddenly don’t matter so much anymore. I feel like I have all the answers. Not that I can ever remember them in the morning,” she commented wryly. “Is that why you love this stuff, Jack?”

“Somethin’ like that, luv.”

Jack smiled to himself, thinking with wonder on being content with _just a few swigs._ She could be adorable in her way, this fierce Pirate King.

He thought on her question with a bit more seriousness, and the truth was that he could never stop at just a few swigs, because what he usually sought in rum was blessed _numb._ It made the world hurt just a little less.

He’d always been the sort who only felt truly alive when he was balancing on a knife’s edge, half way between one disaster and another. The interim gave a man too much time to think, and too much time to be angry that the world was the place it was and always would be. He could get right low in those points.

He’d drank quite a lot, after watching Lizzy disembark from his ship the last time.

The rum helped, and helped get him into more trouble.

It was a cycle.

Most things in life are.

And yet in that moment he’d not had very much to drink at all, practically nothing compared to his usual quota, and the world seemed very fine indeed. Undoubtedly, the pretty lass beside him helped the scenery considerably.

Pretty. That was amusing. She was _beautiful,_ and he couldn’t dampen the way it affected him using the illusive nature of a different word.

Feeling rather strange inside, Jack reached across the table between them, hooking a finger in hers. She didn’t even try to inflict bodily harm upon him, smiling a little as she watched the sun set. But he watched her expression out the corner of his eye, and slowly her smile flat lined into what could only be described as despair. Gently she drew away, sighing heavily. Jack thought he saw a tear on her cheek, but hastily she wiped it away.

She felt as though she’d taken a dagger to the chest, for the pain that suddenly accosted her. Here she was, torn between taking what she wanted, and doing what was supposed to be right.

If she did what was right, she would be alone for another five years. It seemed like an eternity. She’d born the burden stubbornly, putting up a wall around her heart so high not even she could see over it. Her heart had been cut out too that day, and locked neatly away.

She didn’t recall giving Jack Sparrow the key to her heart, but it was no surprise that he seemed to have stolen it.

Perhaps he’d possessed the key all along.

Will had been her first love, and she would always love him. But the woman she had become, not the sweet little girl but the fierce and capable Pirate King, longed for a companion who could stand beside her and weather a storm with an eager smile.

“Miss Swann, that is a dreadfully dreary expression for a lady when the surroundings are as beautiful as this,” Jack coaxed, wiggling his bejeweled fingers at the sunset, hoping for a glimpse of that smile once again.

Elizabeth pressed her lips, barely suppressing a sob that ambushed her like a marooner from the mountains.

“You seem to forget, Jack,” she said carefully, hoping not to betray how wretched she felt inside, “That my name is still Mrs. Turner.”

“I’m not the only one,” he quipped, and her heart fell even lower. Well, she had behaved like a tart earlier, hadn’t she? It didn’t take a pirate to call her on it. But Jack went on, oblivious, “Ol’ Norry’s still starry eyed for ye somethin’ awful.”

It made her feel a little better, that Jack himself was not calling her a harlot.

“So he is,” she acknowledged quietly, “God help him.”

Jack saluted with the bottle in hand. “God help us every one, luv,” he said, and took a healthy swig.

It struck her like a blow. For every man she’d loved, or who had dared love her, had come to ruin one way or the other.

Jack dared pay her another sideways look, and was pained to see his intended compliment did not go over as intended.

“God help you all, indeed” she sighed, standing from her chair. Jack watched her retreat inside, surprise written across his features.

And they’d been having such a _lovely_ evening.

Some time passed. The sun dipped low onto the water, and then disappeared beneath the ocean. She did not come out again.

Jack worried at his lip. Weepy women were not his specialty. But he did not _hear_ any weeping going on inside. In fact, he heard nothing at all.

Curious, Jack followed Elizabeth into the house. The shadows of dusk stretched long across the plank floor. It did not creak as he approached. The cottage was exceptionally well built, and he suspected it would weather earthquakes and hurricanes alike for years to come with the right maintenance.

He found her leaning against the wall near her bedroom door, her back to him. She made a graceful silhouette in the increasingly dark room, her half-dry hair tumbling down her back in a golden waterfall. “Lizzy?” he whispered as though afraid to break the peace of the room.

She turned to regard him with a sad smile, her features in profile. He could see a trail of tears glittering on her cheek, and it caused his chest to ache, the surprising urge to grab her up and kiss her tears away welling within him.

“I’m sorry, Jack. I suppose I’m not used to having a man around the house either.”

She had not cried in _years_. There was a time in the beginning of her sentence of solitude when it seemed all she did was cry. After pulling herself out of that black hole she’d resolved not to do that wretched and useless thing anymore. Yet here she was. Here she was, feeling _everything_ all over again.

In that moment Jack hated Will. He absolutely, unequivocally, perhaps irrationally, hated the whelp. He hated him for winning the girl, and for leaving her alone like this.

“Y’eve been alone a long time, luv. It ain’t natural for a woman in the prime o’ her youth to be alone for so long.”

Elizabeth quirked a slashing dark brow, seeming amused. She leaned more of her weight against the wall, and in that moment she looked utterly exhausted. “And what else am I to do, Jack?” she dared ask.

The pirate tamped down the urge to say something foolish and highly irrational, like _be mine instead._

And in the next moment, Jack hated himself too. For he too had left her alone. All the men who claimed to love her had just sailed away into the sunset, leaving her behind ashore.

Ashore is no place for a Pirate King at all.

“M’sorry, luv.” He didn’t know who was more surprised to hear the words, him or her. And more to him, that he knew he meant them.

“For what, Jack?”

“I should ‘ave come to you. I knew you were all alone here, and I just left ye, no better than the whelp. I thought I was doing the right thing, stayin’ away, but maybe it weren’t.”

Elizabeth sighed deeply. How often had she wished he would? How often had she stood out on her cliff side lookout and prayed to see black sails on the horizon? More times than she could count.

“I’m not your responsibility, Jack. And…why would you have wanted to? I _killed_ you. No, I don’t blame you for staying away. Though, I hope you’ll forgive me for it someday.”

Jack waved bejeweled fingers, as though being eaten by a Kraken had been no great thing in the end.

“I forgave you for that…before you even set foot off the Pearl the last time. I was askin’ for that, wasn’t I? It was my debt pay, and you made me pay it. We’re square, Lizzy. We’ve been square a long time.”

“I wish you had come then. If even just to tell me that.” She’d lain awake plenty of nights with her guilt for that betrayal as a bedmate.

“I recon I was afraid.”

He was being _frightfully_ honest.

He blamed the rum.

“Afraid? Of me?”

“Afraid ye wouldn’t want t’see the likes of me.”

“Jack…that’s absurd!” she declared, and startled herself for the volume of it. Where were these honest sentences spilling forth from?

Was it the rum?

The shadows of impending night?

What had she gotten herself into?

One look into Jack’s soulful black eyes, and she knew just as surely that she couldn’t--wouldn’t take it back.

“Is it?” He regarded her earnestly, for once free of guile or mischief, and she hardly knew what to make of it. And as surely as it surfaced in him, it was gone, replaced by a darker knowledge that sent a shiver down her spine. Jack stepped towards her, and instinctively she retreated in kind.

It put her back against the wall again.

Jack leaned over her, those bare brown arms corded with muscle on either side of her shoulders. He still smelled like her coconut soap, but his own essence encroached in too. He smelled of the sea, and something decidedly wilder, filled with spice and magic. Simply Jack. He made her knees weak in a way no one else ever had.

“Did ye miss me, luv?”

The words escaped before she could shut them up inside. She sealed her own fate with four true words. “I always miss you,” she confessed. “Every time you’ve sailed away from me, I have lived in a state of hoping you’ll come back.”

Jack cradled her face in his hand, that large strong hand calloused from climbing rigging, tying knots, sailing the ship, wielding a sword. Elizabeth leaned into his touch, feeling quite lost, and yet that Jack was her only lifeline in a cold dark sea of uncertainty.

When he leaned down to kiss her she did not even fight him.


	14. Chapter 14

His lips brushed hers, and all she could do was crane her neck for more, reaching up to bury her hands in his dark hair. Jack happily gave it, slanting his mouth over hers, tracing her lips with the tip of his tongue. How he could be so gentle and claim her so utterly she did not know. His hands fisted in her hair, and the kiss became utterly possessive, deep and slow and heady as the strongest of rum.

His fingertips traveled the contours of her bare arms, winning gooseflesh that raised painfully all over her body.

Slowly he pressed his weight into her, and a sigh of desire was the only sound she made. She had not realized the extent of her need to be touched until now. Leave it to Jack to unravel her world.

He started by untying the laces of her chemise, pulling the bow at her neckline free slowly, drawing a delicious shudder from deep inside. He drew an outline of the lace upon her skin, just brushing the swell of her breast. Clever fingers traveled over her body, exploring her curves and angles. He loved the swell of her hip, and the dip of her svelte waist. When he dared to cup her breast in his palm he groaned with delight, gently kneading the soft flesh. She’d filled out more since last they’d met, no longer the coltishly thin girl on the cusp of true womanhood.

When his kisses traveled from her lips to her throat she thought she might just melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Jack?” she whispered huskily, and the sound of her own voice surprised her.

He drew back, afraid she was going to tell him to stop, and somehow, he would have to. But she smiled, the corners of her mouth turning up in a knowing fashion that drove him absolutely mad.

“I’m going to fall.” She feared that she meant it, her legs trembling beneath her, all because of his touch.

“No, luv. I’ve got you,” he promised, smiling that wicked smile she loved so dearly. His pirate smile, she’d always called it in her head. The smile that promised things best done under the cover of night, whether it be stealing treasures, or...

He grasped her thigh in his palm, lifting her long leg over his hip. He appraised the limb appreciatively, stroking the length of her thigh with the palm of her hand.

She could hardly stand the pleasure of it, rocking her head back with a whimper. The back of her skull met the wall, making a loud thump, but she didn’t feel any pain at all.

Jack chuckled against the skin of her throat, leaving wet kisses in his wake. “Easy, darlin’.”

Slowly he rocked his hips against hers, and she could feel...oh God she could feel everything. The sarong did precious little to disguise the shape of him, firm and warm and pressing against her. Her hands roamed his body, searching out the shape of every defined muscle, every raised scar. She combed her fingers through the dusting of curling black hair over his pectorals, that marched in a line down his abdomen, disappearing into the towel.

She kissed the bullet scars upon his chest, mottled flesh like melted wax, and fought the urge to weep that something could have come so close to ending him, to preventing him from being with her now in this madly beautiful moment.

His hand travelled her thigh once more, this time delving beneath the soft skirts of her chemise. Her skin was soft and smooth and Jack felt dizzy as though he’d drank a whole bottle of rum, fast. Elizabeth held her breath as he travelled closer and closer to that place that ached so painfully. If he did not touch her she thought she might die. If he did touch her, she thought she might die.

“What are you doing to me?” she whispered, bewildered by the insistent, delicious, almost _painful_ ache possessing her most intimate places.

Jack paid her an amused look, as though she should already know the answer to that one.

But Will, sweet boy, had never touched her like this. Slow and tantalizing and lighting her ablaze. It had all happened so fast…it had been over too quickly.

“Givin’ ye what ye need, luv,” he finally answered, as the tips of his fingers brushed the juncture between her legs, her most secret treasure.

He could feel that she was swollen, warm, and already so wet…a groan escaped from deep in his chest. He fought the impulse to grab her up and take her to the bedroom, to push inside her and bring her to a hard, sweaty, manic finish with him. He fought to remember that she was just _barely_ not a virgin.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, surrendering to Jack’s touch, trusting him to hold her. He touched her slowly, maddeningly slow, clever fingers making small circles over that nerve that sent shimmering sparks flying through her body. When he began to slide a finger inside her she rocked her hips toward him, never wanting _anything_ so much in her life before.

Jack claimed her mouth once more, his breathing turned erratic. Another finger joined the first, sliding in and out, driving her wild. She didn’t even know…what it was she really wanted. She wanted this to stop, but she didn’t want Jack to stop. What _was_ he doing to her? Killing her? Setting her free?

“You are so tight,” he murmured in her ear, nipping at the lobe.

“Is that good?” she asked, not really sure what he meant. She found her body convulsing upon his digits, flexing muscles she hadn’t even known she had.

Jack chuckled against the skin of her throat, his voice raspy with desire. Before he’d always avoided virgins--or near virgins, like the plague. Yet he found he loved this. Teaching Elizabeth, taking her places he was beginning to suspect she’d never been. “Yes, luv. Tis very good.”

When Jack ducked to take her nipple in his teeth through the thin fabric of her chemise Elizabeth thought she really might die. How could he touch her breast, nipping and sucking and teasing with his tongue, yet somehow it felt he touched her between her legs too? The sensations were utterly mind boggling, maddening. This was utterly _insane._

Jack had dreamed of this more times than fingers and toes could count. It almost seemed as though it couldn’t be real. But it _was_ real. Elizabeth was pressed to him, arching her back against his weight. It was Elizabeth’s fingers digging in to his shoulders, not Scarlette’s or Giselle’s who he imagined to be Elizabeth; he would not be slapped for calling her name, for it was her own teeth grazing his shoulder, her lips upon his neck.

Elizabeth marveled that Jack seemed to know exactly how to touch her, as though he’d possessed the map of her body all along. He’d studied it well, charted his course, determined his heading. How? _How was this possible?_

She imagined his response if she’d asked.

_I’m Captain Jack Sparrow, luv._

She would have laughed, had her throat not already been full with a groan.

Her body begged for this unknown destination. She herself would not be above begging in precisely five seconds, she reckoned, and knew he would just _love_ that too.

“Jack, _please_ ,” she keened, not even knowing for what exactly she asked.

Jack knew she neared the edge of her precipice.

He didn’t want her to fall _just_ yet.

An almost violent whimper of protest escaped her when he removed his hand, leaving her quivering like a pudding, tangled up in his body like a bowline knot.

He grinned as she glowered at him, and suddenly he scooped her into his strong arms, lifting her as though she weighed nothing at all. “Now now, luv, don’t look at me like that,” he said, taking them to the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” she asked, secretly thrilled to be carried in his arms like a bride to her bed. _It could have been this way all along_ , a little voice in the back of her head whispered.

She sank down into the soft feather mattress, one of the few creature comforts she’d kept from her old life, and expected him to crawl atop her at any moment. But instead he stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at her, eyes full of dark desire and delight. With a wicked smile he kneeled down at the side of the bed, pulling her closer with hands on the backs of her knees.

He hungered to slip inside her, to know her secrets deep within, to find a similar bliss that was written across her heavy lidded expression. Jack Sparrow was usually a rather self-serving man. He knew this, would even admit it, unabashedly. In fact, it was his unselfish moments that seemed to get him into the most trouble. This very possibly, most likely, nearly undoubtedly, was one of those moments, of which would surely lead to some difficultly or another. But he didn’t care right then, because this was a pleasure Lizzy had long been deserving.

“You’ll love this,” he assured her, planting a kiss on the inside of her thigh, slowly traveling higher. “You’ll have found a way to finally shut me up. At least for a little while...”

He looked up to find curiosity in those caramel colored eyes, along with a little of something else. Fear? Uncertainty? He could have reassured her again, but he decided he would rather just show her the gates of heaven, rather than describe them to her.

Those deliciously wet kisses trailed up her thigh, causing Elizabeth’s head to rock back. “Jack...” she sighed. Then suddenly his hot breath was there above her, the only prelude of a warning before he touched her center with his tongue. It proved something she already knew to be true: no one had a mouth like Jack Sparrow. Whether it was being used to smile, kiss, swear, insult, beguile, or...

At first she was tense, unsure about this alien activity, no matter how wonderful it felt. He smiled against her skin as slowly he felt Elizabeth opening to him, her thighs spreading wider, welcoming him into her body as he pleasured her.

The pressure between her legs was growing to an agonizing point of explosion within her, until she was certain she would burst into a million tiny pieces. Just at the point where Elizabeth was certain she could no longer stand this extreme but torturous pleasure, the dam broke, releasing a flood of white hot bliss to course through her body.

Starbursts flashed behind her eyelids, and Jack rode the physical wave of pleasure running through her as she bowed her back, a most deliciously uncivilized cry escaping her lips. It raced through her nervous system in a scintillating rush, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes. Finally she lay still, but Jack could still feel the slightest tremors from her, like aftershocks of the earthquakes that so often rocked Port Royal.

Utterly pleased, smiling as the cat who ate the cream, he joined her upon the bed, laying on his side beside her like a great cat sprawled on the savannah. Propping his head upon his hand, he stroked the length of her body, winning yet more shivers coursing through her. It made him smile to see her like this, golden hair splayed across the pillow, limbs limp as beached seaweed, her beautiful face slack in an expression of pure relaxation.

Finally she opened her eyes. Though the room was shadowed with the deepening night, she blinked as though looking into the sun, beholding Jack beside her. “Oh, Jack,” she finally said, reaching out to pull him closer. “What _was_ that?” she asked breathlessly, running her palm up the center of his chest.

He realized in that moment that she truly did not know. Again, that disdain for the whelp burbled inside him, that she had been denied this supreme pleasure on the one and only night she’d been allowed it. Part of him was proud as a peacock to have been the first to give her that special gift, and yet also he felt sad for her. She hadn’t even known what she’d been missing.

No wonder she’d been so successful at remaining faithful, he mused. There would be no peace with her now. The thought pulled his smile even wider than before.

“ _That_ is possibly the best thing about being a living, breathing, human being,” he informed her.

“Is it like that for you?” she asked, feeling bold to be speaking of such things, yet very empowered too. Jack did not seem inclined to make fun of her for her lack of experience. Rather, he seemed rather happy to teach her.

She had a feeling now that there was _much_ to learn.


	15. Chapter 15

“Similar, I imagine.” Jack drew circles upon her belly with his fingertips, sending another frisson of pleasure scintillating over her skin. It was a magnificent torture; her skin felt almost too sensitive to bear it. “But the female body is a marvelous thing. I only get one shot, but you, my luv, can have that pleasure again and again.” He kissed her again, deep and slow, his hands travelling her body once more, and she marveled as that delicious ache began to return in the cradle of her hips, her nipples tightening to hard points beneath the chemise.

She believed him. At least in his hands, Elizabeth believed she could perform that incredible act until she crumpled with exhaustion.

Kissing the soft skin of her throat, Jack asked, “Has no one ever told you? Didn’t they sit you down ‘fore your wedding for the birds an’ bees speech?”

Elizabeth thought of the training she’d received. Because her mother was no longer alive one of the wives of her father’s friends had taken it upon herself to impart the news of Elizabeth’s duties as a wife.

“Lady Farthing told me that…such things were for the man’s pleasure only and that it was a woman’s duty to simply see to it. To enjoy it is sinful and unchaste and a lady does not partake. I don’t think I ever believed that, but I never imagined it could be…so wonderful.” Elizabeth thought of Lady Farthing’s stodgy, cranky husband. “Perhaps she herself didn’t know.”

Jack shook his head at the absurdity in that, kissing her nipple in a way that made her gasp for mercy. “It’s meant to be a gift, luv, for man and woman. One thing that makes this awful world seem a little less cruel. Some people will wring every little bit o’ joy out of life given half the chance.”

And somehow, these people were all in charge.

“Indeed. Well, bugger Lady Farthing, then,” she said with a mischievous smile, and she could see Jack’s eyes glittering with mirth in the dark.

“Said like a true Pirate King.”

“Jack…” Elizabeth drew a circle upon the flat muscle of his pectoral, tracing a tattoo she could barely make out in the moonlight. “I used to think you were crazy. But now I’ve come to think you may be the only sane man I know.”

It was the only way she could think of to tell Jack that she loved him, without actually telling him that she loved him.

Jack smirked, not letting on to the way his heart swelled. “Well, if I knew this would change your mind about me I would ‘av done it sooner.” _This_ was punctuated by his hand running up the length of her leg, squeezing her buttocks close to the juncture of her thighs. It made Elizabeth squirm with pleasure, her head rocking back into the pillow.

“That’s _not_ what changed my mind,” she protested breathlessly, her hands convulsing over the caps of his shoulders.

The pirate chuckled against her skin, and she felt the vibration deep in her body, in her heart. Somehow, Jack always affected her that way.

Elizabeth ran her hands over Jack’s torso, exploring again, hungry for the feel of his almost feverishly hot skin beneath her hands. She traced the line of dark hair at his abdomen, and smiled as he twitched when she grazed the dip of his hip with her nail. She followed the path of dark hair that led down to the hem of the towel still miraculously knotted at his waist. She could see the evidence of his arousal beneath that towel, a bulge that was large enough that perhaps she now understood the reason for _some_ of his swagger.

Jack felt like he was burning up inside and hard as deck nails, but he waited patiently, letting her explore him at her own pace. He didn’t want to scare her. He wanted her to be ready, and to want it as much as he. When finally she ventured below his waist, brushing against his erection with the palm of her hand, he thought he might die. When his body moved of its own accord, responding to her touch, she quickly retreated again. For a moment she stared at that bulge, something like apprehension shining in those honey brown eyes.

Quietly he assured her, “It won’t hurt like the first time, luv. That pain is behind you.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised, but she found she was smiling a little. How did he always seem to know what she was thinking? She should have blushed and run from the room, but this all felt very natural with Jack. She felt beautiful and cherished and like nothing at all in the world could be wrong with what they were doing. She desperately wanted to hold on to that feeling, fearing it was a fantasy that would dissolve all too soon.

Feeling braver, she reached down again, touching him more firmly. It won her a gravelly groan from deep in Jack’s chest, the pirate’s eyes closing.

“It just seems…so improbable that it should fit,” she said cheekily, and Jack laughed, kissing her, pulling her closer.

“You were made for it, darlin’. Your beautiful, soft, strong, female body was made to take me inside you.”

Elizabeth sighed for what he said. That she was made for him. She didn’t think he meant it quite that way, but she liked the thought all the same. When she touched him again, harder this time, Jack hissed a breath between his teeth. “You’re killin’ me, Lizzy,” he said softly, stealing another languorous kiss.

She smiled cheekily. “We’ve already tried that, Jack. This is decidedly more fun.”

Feeling brave again, she reached for the knot at his hip, wanting to free him at last. She wanted to see him and hold him and maybe for once in her life, feel complete.

Jack closed his eyes, waiting for her to set him free.

A most unwelcome interruption ensued.

“Elizabeth?” a voice called from outside, and both recognized the voice: James Norrington.

“I’m going to kill him,” hissed Elizabeth, murder written upon her features.

Jack very much shared the sentiment.

“Pity for the commodore, a man has to take such threats from you seriously,” grumbled Jack.

“Elizabeth?” James sounded closer, louder, more urgent. The front door was unlocked, he could barge in at any moment.

And fearing for her safety, she knew he would.

She knew she needed to intercept him, but was oh so reluctant to move. But fear of James finding her in such a compromising position with the pirate motivated her to at least go lock the door... “I _am_ going to kill him,” she repeated.

Reluctantly Jack let her stand. She very nearly fell back to the bed or to the floor, her limbs felt like rubber. “My knees are so weak,” she whispered, hands scrambling to fix her dress properly once again.

Jack watched her from the bed, propped up on his elbows. “Kill the Commodore quickly, and come _right_ back.”

Biting back a smile, she nodded, and fled the room to intercept James, before he saw something that would shatter him forever, and cause him to try to put Jack in irons again.

Slipping out the front door, Elizabeth sighed, “James, really you--” Where she was about to berate him for caring too intensely for her personal safety, she was cut short by a surprising sight.


	16. Chapter 16

James was not alone. He was joined by Hector Barbossa, and a smattering of what Elizabeth assumed to be recently acquired crew, for she did not recognize many of them. Most alarmingly, a rather burly member held a curved knife at James’ throat. “Hector Barbossa!” Elizabeth exclaimed loudly, knowing Jack would be listening in.

Although Barbossa’s face was thrown in shadow by his wide brimmed hat, she could still see his mouth split in a grin. Not exactly a welcoming sight. “Mrs. Turner, long time no see.” Well, it seemed someone remembered her marital status. Perhaps because he himself had performed the ceremony amidst that battle in the maelstrom.

“Indeed. What the bloody hell are you doing?” she demanded, gesturing at James’ precarious situation.

Barbossa shot a glance in the former commodore’s direction, smile widening to very nearly a baring of teeth. “There’s something you have, that I be in need of, and I could think of no other way to persuade you to part with it. The object of question being _very_ near and dear to you.”

A cold lump formed in Elizabeth’s stomach. She had a feeling she knew...a very bad feeling. Absently she began to reach for the charm, but stopped herself, instead brushing all her hair behind her, out of view. “You can’t have it,” she said, voice gone steely.

Men had died after hearing that tone of hers, and Barbossa knew it. But still he grinned.

“Very well.” The slightest signal of hand, and a trickle of blood began its descent down James’ throat. She watched, as the burly pirate’s arm tensed for a final stroke, she screamed, “NO! Wait!” The blade stopped. James had already died once for her, she couldn’t let it happen again. Not if she had some say in it. “I hid it,” she confessed.

Barbossa nodded, expecting as much. “Treasure hunts be one of a pirates’ favorite games, lass. I hope ye can find it again.”

“I have a map.”

“Even better. I still think you and the Commodore best come with us, though, for insurance’s sake. I would be cranky if we had to come find you again. And we know how awful I can be, when I’m cranky.”

Elizabeth glared. She and Barbossa had fought on the same side, once, but she still trusted him no farther than she could throw him. Back to the Pearl, it seemed, though she did not voice it, not wanting to let on she’d had any contact with Jack Sparrow.

“I need to change clothes,” she insisted, but dared not move lest her action be taken as a gesture of ill faith, and James no longer possessed an intact windpipe.

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing now?” All present leered at her in some fashion, except for James. His eyes were distant, but not terrified. Almost _tired_. Another round of games with pirates, it seemed. It was a game he’d hoped to avoid now. He’d had his fill, as it were.

“Please.” Her voice was flat and unyielding as stone. Asking, but by no means begging. She could go aboard the Pearl in a dress if she had to, she would slit anyone who dared try touch her from naval to nose. She and Barbossa’s eyes met, and she sensed a certain acknowledgement in his gaze. Equals? No, he would never admit that. But respect for another warrior, another pirate? Yes, certainly, without a doubt.

“Ye have five minutes, Mrs. Turner, and be sure t’bring that map. And the key too, if you please.”

Without another word she disappeared into the house, straight to the bedroom. As she expected, it was empty, as was the rest of the house. Elizabeth did not feel angry though, or deserted, or curse Jack for cowardice.

No, in fact, she took it as a compliment that he had faith in her abilities to tangle with Barbossa and his crew, until they met again. And she was certain they would very soon.

As she dressed in her masculine costume, complete with dagger, pistol, and sword belt, Elizabeth realized that she wasn’t really afraid. Not the way she should have been.

Jack was here.

And so was the Pearl.

He would do _something_ scathingly brilliant. They could have her back by morning.

Maybe Jack would even let her steer...not bloody likely.

No, Captain Sparrow wouldn’t let his first love slip through his fingers again.

The thought caused a pang deep in her heart, but she brushed it all away. No matter what pretty words the pirate plied her with, she knew his other loves would always come first. The Pearl, and the Sea.

So long as she remembered this truth, he couldn’t hurt her _too_ badly.

It was a wishful thought.

The pirates trooped down the path to her harbor. The others stumbled over the rocks and roots, but Elizabeth knew it like the back of her hand. Still a bit rubber-limbed, she even hummed as she walked, seemingly unaffected by the pistol pointed at her back by one of the crew.

She felt invincible in that moment. Utterly elated, filled with euphoria, like she hadn’t a care in the world.

What had Jack _done_ to her?

She noticed Barbossa and James both kept paying her sliding looks as they walked, as though something puzzled them.

It was Barbossa who commented first.

“Mrs. Turner, you look _exceedingly_ well for a woman who’s been living all alone in a cottage by the sea fer ‘alf a decade.”

Elizabeth lifted her chin, not sure what the old pirate was getting at. She responded with courtesy, waiting for the catch. “Thank you, Captain Barbossa, how kind of you to say.”

She didn’t know it, but Elizabeth positively glowed, even in the torchlight. Cheeks flushed a deep rosy red, her lips swollen from kissing Jack, eyes bright and golden hair tousled.

Barbossa didn’t understand, but James knew very well that Jack had been at the cottage with her. He suspected he knew the reason for her good humor, and a jealousy black as pitch burbled within his gut. He’d propositioned her for _years_ , on the most gentlemanly terms. The pirate waltzed in to Port Royal for one night and slipped past her walls immediately.

There really was no justice at all in this world, he thought bitterly.

But he kept his mouth shut, knowing the best way to escape Barbossa’s tender mercies would be some conniving plan on Captain Sparrow’s part. Because if Barbossa had the Pearl, Jack would surely want it back.

Once he regained captaincy he hoped Jack would extend the same courtesy of refraining to initiate a hanging.

Elizabeth sat beside James in the long boat, pistols still pointed steadily at their backs.

Barbossa had anchored the Pearl in the same harbor as her little Free Swann II, and the great black brigantine positively dwarfed her skiff. The sight of that beautiful boat, dark as pitch, her silhouette so elegant and terrible in the moonlight, pulled a wistful smile from her lips.

Barbossa, sitting in the prow of the longboat, had the same expression too. He never tired of seeing that ship, especially when he captained her. Elizabeth and Barbossa shared an uncommon look of understanding. Despite the circumstances, in that moment, there was a dash of comradery between them.

Noting this exchange between the two pirates--for if he was honest with himself, Elizabeth fit that bill all too nicely--Norrington rolled his eyes. “I will never understand the appeal of that rotten tub,” he grumbled. “You’re both mooning as though she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.”

Elizabeth thought back on something Jack had said to her on the island. _It's not just a keel and a hull and a deck and sails, that's what a ship needs. But what a ship_ is _... what the Black Pearl really is... is freedom._

Her smile widened, and she nodded emphatically, her eyes a little misty. For the memory, or the sight before her, she couldn’t exactly say. “She is. She absolutely _is_ , James.”

Quite disgusted, James simply grunted in reply.

 


	17. Chapter 17

Elizabeth found herself in the brig of the Pearl, staring through the bars at James, slumped in the straw in the cell opposite her. It was dank and drippy, smelled of salt, mildew, gunpowder, and other unidentifiable but equally noxious substances. “I’m sorry,” Norrington finally spoke, glumly. “I’m afraid I failed you again.”

Elizabeth inclined her head, dark thick brows furrowed. “None of that, James. You died for me once already. I couldn’t bear for it to happen again. Especially not over something as silly as this.”

James laughed, a short bitter burst of sound. “You would call the safety of your husband’s heart silly? I would hate to know what you deem serious...”

His sarcasm perplexed Elizabeth. Something had the Commodore in a mood, and although the present surroundings would seem to lend to that, she didn’t quite think that was it. He spoke again, tone slipping to practically pure acidity. “And where did Jack get off to? As his ship is no longer his ship, apparently?”

Elizabeth realized she’d been caught in her lie. She felt as though she were playing a game of deception with an overly watchful parent or governess, walking on hot coals to keep everyone convinced of her innocence. It seemed ridiculous, the more she thought about it. The glow from Jack was fading, and her mood quickly descended to match James’.

Why couldn’t she bloody well do as she pleased without answering to anyone? She was a big girl now, and she took care of herself rather well. Well, the simplest answer was that she _could_ do as she bloody well pleased. It just lay with her to _do_ it.

_The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do._

Jack was rubbing off on her in more ways than one.

“I have no idea,” she feigned, voice deceptively sweet.

“Don’t be coy.” There was a note of accusation in his voice, and it dawned on her. Did he hear something of her last heated encounter with Jack? A stray moan slipped through the window, into the hot night to find unsuspecting ears? Or was he merely suspicious by habit--she and Jack did have a history, she supposed.

Was it a history? More like a gravity. Something pushing, pulling, seemingly out of their control. Or maybe she just _fancied_ it was out of her control. That would make everything much more simple.

Already, she was beginning to doubt. Herself, Jack, her own sanity.

She’d been unfaithful to Will. She’d been on the verge of being _very_ unfaithful to Will, before they were interrupted.

Her heart plummeted even farther.

One of the crew members she did not recognize descended the stairs, came to stand before her cell. “Captain’s ready for ye,” he grumbled, unlocking her cell door. Pushing to her feet, Elizabeth followed without a word.

The first time she’d parleyed with Barbossa she’d been just a girl, a lass of nineteen years old. She’d been so bloody terrified, it was a wonder she’d been able to gather enough wits about her to even stab him, little good that it did. And nearly seven years down the road now, how did she feel?

Surprisingly calm.

Cool.

Capable.

Upon self-examination she found herself wielding a self-assured confidence that came with repeated exposure to this strange, wonderful, and deadly world of pirates.

Maybe that was a lie.

She had an ace up her sleeve.

Out there somewhere was Jack. Brilliant, unpredictable, and daft, Jack Sparrow. Maybe he wouldn’t come back for her, but he certainly would for _him precious_ Pearl.

           

* * *

 

The great cabin of the Pearl had been transformed to Barbossa’s taste once again. Heavy velvet drapery darkened the walls and windows, and covered the table. Candles burned in a heavy silver sconce, no doubt acquired illicitly. If the loot in Barbossa’s cabin could be taken, as a sign, the Pearl had seen her fair share of honest pirating. The thought made her smile, even if it wasn’t Jack behind the helm. That would all change soon, she was fairly certain.

“It looks as though you’ve kept yourselves busy,” she said, admiring a painting hung on the wall. It seemed to be of the hand of a Dutch master, a still life of rotting fruit, a skull, and a butterfly lighted atop it.

“That we have,” affirmed Barbossa, pleased and taking a crunching bite out of one of his beloved green apples. Ever-present, Jack the monkey perched on his shoulder, baring his canines with ear-grating chatter every now and then.

“Then I must ask, what would you be wanting with Will’s heart? With Beckette gone, business must be good, competition weeded out, and trade ships from Spain laden with stolen treasures meandering two and fro...why pick a fight with the captain of the Dutchman? The most powerful ship of the seven seas, that sails in this world only when It chooses to?”

Barbossa gave a wry smile. “If it sails exactly where it chooses to, then why hasn’t it been to visit you lately?”

The stab hit home, but Elizabeth’s expression only darkened momentarily before returning to a cool façade. One pirate had already gotten the better of her tonight, the number needn’t increase double. When she gave no answer, Barbossa continued, “Because Captain William Turner has a duty to fulfill, and as we all well know, the lad can’t be dissuaded from doing an honest duty.”

“He’s not like us, is he?’ Elizabeth mused quietly. Could she really lump herself in the same category as Barbossa? A pirate captain and a pirate king, that she certainly could.

The crunch of another bite filled the air. “Not at all, missy. He’s a good man. Not rotten and selfish like we cutthroat scallywags.”

“We’re really bad eggs,” she sighed, dropping down in a chair. She kicked her booted feet up to rest on the table. It was not a teasing gesture, merely one of ease. After being away from the game for five years, Elizabeth appreciated that Barbossa still included her in the Brethren, to speak generally.

There was something curious about Barbossa tonight, that she only noticed once they’d boarded the ship. For a man who wanted something, he seemed surprisingly...at ease. She remembered their first encounter, when he’d torn Port Royal to shreds in search of that lost Aztec gold piece.

Perhaps he wanted the heart, but to what ends? Quite frankly, he didn’t seem to really give a damn.

“But we have a curiosity to take into consideration, don’t we, Mrs. Turner? The former Commodore’s return from the world of the dead is an interesting case. Rumors have flown across the Caribbean of a ferryman who can bring back those we thought lost forever. The choice of a somewhat friend returned doesn’t seem so strange, but a body must ask if the ferryman could be...persuaded, with a certain item of some importance to him, to bring back others?”

“Who do you want brought back?” asked Elizabeth, beginning to understand his game.

“Oh no, lass, not me. If I wanted someone back, I know the way to fetch them me own self, don’t I? I have no need of the heart.”

“Then who does?”

“A Spanish gentleman of a certain persuasion, by name of Francisco de Vargas.”

Elizabeth’s heart dropped to her stomach, and a cold lump replaced it in her chest. She hoped her expression didn’t betray her fear. “I would think you must mean _Don_ de Vargas. And by a certain persuasion, you mean he’s a vampire.”

Barbossa raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so you already know of him.”

“We met in Tortuga, actually, just the other night. Nearly even dined together, as it were...”

Captain Barbossa regarded her with a new level of interest. Attempting to gauge something, but what, she couldn’t be sure.

“Oh did you? Looking for Jack Sparrow, I imagine.”

“He was, yes.” Abruptly Hector stood, crossing to Elizabeth. With brusque fingers he craned her head, assessing her neck for bite marks. She let him, for she had nothing to hide. “But I don’t believe he found him.”

“Jack’s made himself scarce these days. I’ve had trouble finding him me self.” Elizabeth tilted her head thoughtfully, looking up at the pirate with a lazy smile. Her confidence smacked of another captain they knew, and it grated on Barbossa’s nerves instantly. “Ye wouldn’t happen to know where to find him, would you? Because if ye did, that would make this easier on the both of us.”

“Oh? How is that?” She played coy.

“He’s got l’Agua de Vida, which is all I really want out of this mess. If you could find a different way to give it to me, we can forget all about your precious William’s heart, and make a new deal.”

Elizabeth quickly weighed the consequences quickly. In short, it all equaled one big mess.

“I haven’t seen Jack Sparrow since he sailed off, on _this_ ship, five years ago. I can’t imagine why he would avoid me, its not as though I took advantage of his fondness for my person and used it to chain him to the mast of his own ship, whilst the kraken dragged it down to Jones’ locker...” she shrugged, then raised one dark eyebrow. “But I hear the man hasn’t aged a day.”

Barbossa’s lip curled in a snarl. It was quite obvious that he had, much to his dismay. “That’s a pity. We’ll just have to stick to our original agreement then.” Barbossa held up the ornate wrought iron key Elizabeth had given him, which rested atop her map. “And hope dear William isn’t in a suicidal mood, after being away from his dearly beloved wife for so very long.”

“I’m sure William will do what he can...let’s hope Senor de Vargas won’t be disappointed.”

“Aye, lass, let’s hope.” It was apparent that neither of them were enchanted with their new acquaintance.


	18. Chapter 18

“I miss Jack,” confessed Ragetti, looking out on the great black expanse that was the ocean at night, the reflection of the moon glittering on the caps of the waves. For he only had one eye, there wasn’t exactly a panoramic view.

“Aye, he was a bit more fun than Barbossa, wudn’t he?” agreed Pintell.

“And three years since taking poor Jack’s beloved Pearl from him, and we still haven’t found l’Agua de Vida. A bit discouragin’, isn’t it?”

“Are you sayin’ we should have stuck with Jack?”

“Rumor has it he’s already found it. Hasn’t aged a day.”

Pintell shrugged. “We’ll get it yet,” he said. “Once this complicated business is done with the vampire, we’ll be sippin’ the sweet waters before we know it.”

“But why wait, mates?”

Both Ragetti and Pintell jumped at the new voice, which they both knew quite well.

“Jack?”

“I used to have to consistently correct people on that. _Captain, Captain_ _Jack_ _Sparrow_. But now the game’s changed a bit. Now, it’s the _Immortal_ Captain Jack Sparrow.”

Pintell and Ragetti grinned, completely forgetting that this was an intruder aboard that their present Captain would very much like them to sound the alarm. “Aw. So ye did find it?”

“Sure as day, gents. And I’ve got plenty more stashed away, which I’d be willing to share...” Jack grinned, gold teeth flashing in the moonlight. “That is, if the captaincy of a certain ship I love so dearly were to be returned to its rightful owner, and by that I mean yours truly... _toute_ _suite_.”

The inseparable pair exchanged wary looks. “And the former mutineers?” They had betrayed Jack, not once, but _twice_. Not an easy thing to forgive and forget.

As much as he hated to say it, a higher prize was at stake, and besides. He _kind of_ even liked Pintell and Ragetti. So Jack assured them, “Bygones, mates. By this time tomorrow we could be sailing happily away, the Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow, and his immortal crew. What say you?”

Pintell and Ragetti gave a rotten toothed grin.

 

* * *

Barbossa and Elizabeth continued to discuss the parameters of their agreement. The Captain insinuated multiple times that he really, truly, would not mind throwing his dealings with the vampire pirate to the wind, if Elizabeth would only help him find l’Agua de Vida via Jack Sparrow. But she’d already given up Jack once to save all their skins. She wouldn’t be doing it again.

At least, not while there were other options at hand.

“You keep insisting that I must have some means of contact with our illusive Jack Sparrow. What makes you so certain I’m lying?” Elizabeth had risen from her relaxed seat once again to inspect the other trappings she’d missed the first round, something to do. She eyed a sword on the wall, admiring its craftsmanship. It looked familiar. Was it one of Will’s?

“Ye said it yourself, Mrs. Turner. He has a certain fondness for your... _person_. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you, and that was when your husband was still around in this world. Once a man achieves his long sought goal of immortality, what else is there to do but go after the girl?”

Elizabeth had a momentary flashback of exactly how he’d gone after her earlier that night, and her cheeks burned. Luckily the cabin was dim, and her back was turned. “Don’t be ridiculous, Barbossa. A man doesn’t chase after a woman who killed him once.”

“A sane man wouldn’t, but Jack’s a bit daft, now isn’t he?”

“Some would say that,” said Elizabeth noncommittally.

There was a knock on the door, of a rather insistent nature. “Captain, we’d like a word with you,” called a voice through the door.

Ragetti.

“Later,” growled Barbossa, in no mood at the moment to entertain whatever bilge had congealed in the mite’s sodden excuse for a brain.

“No, Captain, now, if you please,” the skinny one-eyed pirate insisted, rather politely.

A suspicious eyebrow raised, Barbossa went to the door, wrenching it open. “What do ye want?” he snarled.

And he was met with dead silence.

The whole crew had gathered outside the door, all brandishing weapons. Some smiled maliciously, but most held blank expressions. Just good business between pirates. In the middle of it all stood Jack Sparrow, entirely smug.

Elizabeth’s heart jumped at the sight: things were looking up already.

“What the blazes is this?” growled Barbossa, shooting a look to the crew that would have killed a normal set of men.

“We thought it fit to inform you we’ve elected a new captain,” piped Ragetti.

“Democracy...isn’t it great?” said Jack with a shit-eating smile.

Not quite resigned to fate, for he still had _one_ thing he thought would be at least slightly of interest to Jack Sparrow, Barbossa made to move quickly back inside his cabin, intent on taking a hostage. But as soon as he whirled, he found there was no hostage to take, only a particularly menacing, completely sharp, and expertly wielded blade hovering just before his face.

Elizabeth took no time to flow with the Tao of the ship’s politics, and offered Barbossa a rather feral grin. “To the brig with you, Barbossa,” she said crisply, one dark eyebrow raised in triumph.

Recognizing defeat, at least for the moment, Barbossa stepped from the cabin. “You’re looking young,” he grumbled at Jack, entirely grasping the situation without a further word of explanation.

“And you, my dear Barbossa, are looking frightfully age-ed. Can’t stop the march of time, eh? Unless you have the right map, that is...”

With a growl and a glare shot Jack’s way, Barbossa went fairly quietly to the brig, intent to live to fight another day. Although Jack was more reluctant to kill than most pirates, he had proven once that he was more than willing to make an exception for Barbossa.

“Release James Norrington while you’re down there,” called Elizabeth to the pirate leading Barbossa. The pirate, a tall man with skin dark as ebony, tattoos spiraling across his face, looked to Jack in confusion. Unleashing a former navy officer upon them did not seem to be in the best interests of the ship.

Jack narrowed his eyes at Elizabeth.

Look at her, already giving orders. Just like a woman....

“Belay that,” Jack said, eyes never leaving Elizabeth’s. He greatly enjoyed the expression of indignation that crossed her pretty features. “A night in the brig won’t hurt the good former Commodore.”

“Jack!” Elizabeth protested. “You can’t--”

“In fact I can, and will, Ms. Swann. And if you have a problem with the authority on this ship you can join the both of them. Savvy?”

She wanted to protest, but bit her tongue. Jack’s eyes were black and glinting in the moonlight, hard as obsidian. Despite the favors they’d just shared, he would brook no breach of authority on his newly acquired ship, not even from her.

His truest love, she reminded herself.

Would he really throw her in the brig if she jeopardized it? There was not a doubt in her mind.

“Yes, _Captain_.”

The dark pirate left to take down Barbossa, and then the rest of the crew dispersed to their posts, as though nothing truly momentous had taken place. The pearl changing captaincy between Barbossa and Sparrow was old hat, as it were.

Soon Elizabeth and Jack were left essentially alone on deck.

Elizabeth leaned against the doorjamb of the great cabin, now Jack’s once again. “That took even less time than I expected. And without firing a single shot. How do you do it, Jack?” The question was redundant, but she couldn’t help but say it, a small smile curling her lips.

Jack shrugged, but was obviously quite pleased with himself.

“Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow, luv.”

“That you are,” she said quietly, looking to the deck. She was suddenly quite aware of the look Jack was paying her. The night was cool, a stiff salty breeze coming off the water. But the look in Jack’s eyes…made her feel hot all over.

As he took a step forward, she knew she was being stalked once again. She knew also that should he succeed in corralling her into his cabin, the way he’d had her against the wall, and subsequently the bed, she would be utterly lost once again.

She now wasn’t sure if that was the best idea.

The thought unnerved her as much as it tantalized her. Someone was after Will’s heart, and who knows where their adventure would lead? Would she be face to face with her husband soon? Much, much sooner than she expected?

An infidelity would not be aged five years when next she would face Will, but maybe within months. Weeks. Days. What had she done? A sort of panic gripped her heart. It couldn’t be undone now. And yet at the same time, she found a familiar sensation echo from the past: she wasn’t really sorry.

She felt perhaps more sorry that she wasn’t sorry.

Jack was obviously intent on relocating them back to his cabin. And she was obviously reluctant. He’d feared this would happen after she’d had a chance to ruminate. The magic they’d shared at her cottage on shore had faded. Everything seemed decidedly more…real, now.

As he leaned over her, hoping to steal a kiss and reignite that fairy tale world again, she ducked under his arm.

“Barbossa is after Will’s heart,” she said quickly, hoping to change the atmosphere of their encounter.

“Mmm hmm.” Jack still followed her like a slow predator, confident he would catch her eventually.

“And he would have given it to our friend Francisco the vampire.”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” she demanded, retreating another step.

“I am paying utmost attention to your mouth,” he informed her, which she knew wasn’t the same thing.

“Jack…” she protested, her resolve crumbling slowly as he slid his fingers into her hair once more. But he didn’t lean down for a kiss. He simply…studied her, which was decidedly more unnerving.

“We’ve got the Pearl back, luv,” he said with a Puckish grin, hoping to reignite their earlier comradery.

She softened for a moment, smiling with him. There was that word again. _We._

“I know,” she whispered. “I am very happy for you.”

“For _us_ ,” he corrected. “Now, we can sail… _away_.” His words echoed the dream she’d described to him aboard the Free Swann II, and her treacherous heart soared. It was a wonder it could be contained in her chest for the sudden thrill of elation that took her.

“Jack…” Her protest came less emphatic this time, and his smirk widened, softened.

“Come celebrate with me,” he invited. “We’ll throw Barbossa’s things out the window, and re-christen the berth as ours.”

Elizabeth’s heart positively hammered in her chest.

She reached for the only weapon she had; standing on tiptoe, she whispered over his mouth, “Oh? I thought you might say, _Once is enough._ ”

A low groan escaped from deep in Jack’s throat.

Once could _never_ be enough, he was finding.

He leaned forward to claim those lips. She tried to duck away, intent on fleeing, but Jack already had a firm hold of her. He kissed her silly, and as he did so he walked them backwards. A thought of _this is total madness_ flitted through her brain, but she duly ignored it. Maybe she would kiss him a little more, and then she would stop. She would walk away. Stay faithful to Will. She would go _now._ Well, maybe not. Maybe later. Ten seconds more. Twenty. A minute, just a minute. She just wanted one more sip, just another taste of Jack Sparrow.

And another.

And another.

She soon found herself pressed up against something solid.

The main mast.

How ironic.

They stood at an impasse, Jack holding her with his superior strength, and she him with just her gaze.

She tried her last defense, even if it was a tired one: good old English indignation.

“Just going to take what you want, are you?” She tried to put as much disdain as she could muster in those words, but even to her ears they came off as flat.

Jack hooked her chin none too gently, privy to her game and not appreciating the implication. “Why should I have to, when you want it just as much as I do?”

She trembled in his arms, hating her weakness, but strangely not Jack for causing it.

“How long have you wanted me, Jack?” she found herself asking, words escaping her lips before she could bite down on them.

It didn’t faze him like she thought it might. Perhaps they’d already been too honest with each other earlier. The answer came quickly, rolled off his silver tongue as though he’d rehearsed it a thousand times over. “Since I pulled you from the sea like a sodden china doll. Ye were so beautiful I thought perhaps I’d rescued a mermaid, not a girl. If the whole navy squadron of Port Royal had not convened upon the dock I don’t think I would have stopped at cutting off just your corset. And how long have you wanted me, darlin’?”

A cheeky smile curled her lips, suddenly a dreamy look in her eye.

She thought of that moment on the dock when she’d come to, seeing the famous pirate crouched above her, knife in hand. Had she been afraid? Not like she should have been. She knew him instantly from the engravings in the books she’d read.

When he’d taken her hostage to keep Norrington’s men at bay, she’d hoped a little that he would make off with her.

“I’ll have to think on it,” she lied sweetly, canting her head.

Suspecting as much, Jack narrowed his eyes at her. She noticed that he’d found time to re-apply his war paint, eyes lined with dark kohl once more. He looked fierce and wild, beautiful and exotic.

But she remembered how fresh he’d been earlier, seeming years younger, almost innocent with his eyes closed in the bath.

She might have liked that better.

Jack Sparrow the man, not the legend.

A loud _clack_ interrupted their moment of silent contemplation, and Elizabeth looked down in horror at the manacle that now encircled her wrist.

“Well, ye can think about it here tonight,” he said, and quickly skipped out of reach as she tried to hit him, and not with a ladylike open handed slap, but a closed fist.

“Jack!” she seethed. “Release me at once!”

She was no repentant damsel. The venom in her voice could have dropped six men flat to the ground.

Immune and highly amused, Jack wagged a finger at her, the silver in his ring glinting in the moonlight. “Not a chance, luv. I’ve been wantin’ t’do that for years.”

“Jack!” she protested again, so angry she could not articulate anything more than his name.

“I’ve got to keep my eye on you. Left to your own devices you might do something stupid an’ honorable an’ whelpy, like spring the former Commodore out the brig.”

“How could I? I haven’t the keys!” she exclaimed.

“Like that could ever stop you. G’night, luv. Shame I have t’christen the cabin without ye. You’ll be there in spirit, I assure you.”

Flabbergasted, Elizabeth watched Jack disappear into his cabin, shutting the door behind him.

“Bloody pirate,” she hissed, kicking in the direction he’d disappeared. Her heart still thundered in her chest from his ministrations, and her skin missed the heat and pressure of his own against it. Shaking her head, she slid down to sit at the base of the mast, chain clinking as she did.

Perhaps it was for the better, after all.

 _Keep telling’ yourself that, darlin’_ echoed in her head.

“Hush, Jack,” she muttered, curling up against the cool night air. It was going to be a long night on deck.

 


	19. Chapter 19

Blue eyes, as dark as the ocean at night and just as forbidding, consumed Elizabeth from all sides. She was drowning, limbs gone dead in dark water holding her powerless, immobile, unable to kick for the surface. She could not even tell which way was up, all was a menacing blue, obscuring the location of that saving gulp of air. _You cannot run from me_ echoed a voice within her mind. _Because you are already mine._

 _No no no_ she chanted, shaking her head, finding it was all she could do. But there, there in the distance was a sparkle of light, far away. She fought to win her limbs back, fought to keep the life that was hers. As she began to resist against the water, she found her probing hands could push against it, propel her forward. Closer, the sparkle came closer, penetrating the dark oppressive depths.

Elizabeth awoke with a gasp, disoriented. Sunlight, bright and inviting, poured in through the window. The mattress beneath her was not exactly soft, but not uncomfortable.

Mattress?

Window?

Elizabeth sat up to look around, and immediately recognized her surroundings; the great cabin of the Black Pearl. How did she get there? She was still dressed in her shirt and pants, her boots rested on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Jack’s bed.

The events of the wee hours of the morn came back to her in a rush. So why wasn’t she awakening to the morning stirrings of the crew on deck, still chained to the mast like a mutineer? The answer was somewhat obvious: she would have had to been unlocked and carried in while still asleep.

Only one man aboard had the key.

The sound of the door being opened signaled Elizabeth to lie back down, feigning sleep. She wasn’t ready to face Jack quite yet, after the night they’d had. She watched clandestinely through the curtain of her hair as the captain entered the room, rifling through a chest at the opposite side.

What was he looking for? A map? A bottle of rum?

She found herself admiring his physique, his wiry torso, long legs, and as he bent over, that undeniably _perfect_ round rear. Such charms weren’t fair for a pirate to possess; they’re supposed to be grotty and loathsome and unappealing. Well, Jack never was good at following rules. She enjoyed being able to observe him in secret, taking in the way he moved when he thought no one else was watching.

After rifling a bit longer, Jack closed the chest, stood up straight, and fingered his chin. Adjusted a ring, brushed back a dreadlock, checked to make sure a favorite bead was still in place. He fidgeted silently, and Elizabeth fought not to laugh, delighted by her private show.

He made a face at the décor of the room, still _velvet_ _a la Barbossa_. “Damn you and your blasted velvet, Hector,” he muttered under his breath, putting his hands on his hips, then crossing his arms, and drumming fingers on his biceps with long bejeweled fingers. Jack Sparrow did not ever seem to sit completely at rest. That is, until he looked over at Elizabeth, lying on his bed. As his dark eyes turned to her he went entirely still. Certain she’d been spotted for a spy, Elizabeth hurriedly closed her eyes, hoping to appear asleep.

She heard his footsteps as Jack crossed the floor, boot heels clicking softly and slowly, as though he were walking with care not to wake her. “I’ve had a thought or two about seeing you there in the morning’ light before, luv, ” he murmured quietly. He did not make a sound, but she felt the slight shift of the mattress as he took a seat beside her. “Never really thought I’d live to see it, though.”

Lightly, ever so lightly, he stroked her hair, and the tickling sensation sent a thrill through her limbs. “How many times are we going to bugger our chances, hmm? How will we ruin it this time?”

Elizabeth’s heart thundered in her chest, she was sure Jack could hear it. A part of her wanted to bolt upright in bed, to pull him to her. But a part of her wouldn’t allow her to move: feeling Jack’s nimble fingers caressing her hair ever so lightly, the moment was simply too sweet to shatter.

With a final sweep of fingers down her jaw line, Jack stood. “Sweet dreams, dearie. Sorry ‘bout the whole shacklin’ ye to the main mast business. It’s an apology you’ll never hear while you’re awake.”

And with that he walked out of the cabin, not having found whatever he came in to find.

Or maybe, just maybe, Elizabeth dared think he had.


	20. Chapter 20

Elizabeth was experiencing a strange sense of déjà vu, a scene from the past echoing from her memory, playing out again in front of her. The merciless Caribbean sun beating down upon her, she watched Jack perform that strange stork-like walk across the desert island they’d been marooned on together, seemingly an eternity ago.

Only this time, the tables had turned considerably. It was now Barbossa who stood to be left for dead on the island, under a watchful guard as Jack worked to make good on his promise to his crew. Jack jumped up and down, once, twice, three times. Elizabeth knew what came next.

She’d lived it all before.

Jack disappeared beneath the sand, and bottles began appearing, tossed up and caught by eager hands of the crew. Though the joy of the event was infectious, Elizabeth herself decided she wouldn’t imbibe in the Agua de Vida just yet.

She felt rather uneasy about the stuff. It smacked a bit too much of playing God for her tastes.

Jack, of course, had no qualms.

Still, there was a certain freedom in the ability to die that she wasn’t quite ready to forsake.

She stood away from the others, and soon turned her back on the scene for a view of the azure blue waters stretching out to the edge of the world, or so it seemed.

“Bein’ here make ye feel a bit nostalgic, luv?”

Elizabeth turned to look at Jack. He clasped a new bottle in his hand, and seemed smug as ever.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, a bit.”

Jack smirked, and slung a friendly arm around her shoulders. For a moment she was seven years younger, sitting in front of a bonfire with a legend in the flesh, terrified he would try to ravish her, and hoping a little that he would. “Ah, the things I wanted to do to you that night...but I didn’t, because you were just a girl, on the cusp of true womanhood.” He waved his hand animatedly. “Remember how I exercised such saintly and impressive restraint?” Gold teeth glinted in the sun.

Elizabeth leaned in to Jack, guiltily enjoying this small friendly contact. “You mean, remember how I got you so drunk you passed out, and then I burned all your rum? Yes, it’s one of my fondest memories.”

Jack’s face fell, and he pursed those expressive full lips, raising an eyebrow. “Not somethin’ ye want to be remindin’ me of, if you be wantin’ a ride off this rock, darlin’.”

He made to walk towards the longboat, the goals of their landfall completed. “I don’t think I would have nearly as much fun with Barbossa here,” she admitted, following.

“Say that again, luv,” Jack whispered in her ear. Unable to resist the proximity, he nibbled her earlobe, ever so gently between his teeth, before walking away with something of a spring in his step.

Elizabeth stood struck dumb, shocked that he would be so brazen in broad daylight, even if most of the crew was too busy passing around Agua de Vida to care if a whole armada of Royal Navy Ships appeared on the horizon.

Much less did they care if their captain made a pass at the Poppet, which was old hat when they were together.

“Fraid this is where we part ways, chum,” said Jack to Barbossa, swaying the way he did when sea-accustomed legs were forced to negotiate a more unyielding terrain.

“I’ll give Francisco your regards, if I see him,” said Barbossa as Elizabeth walked past. The singing ring of a sword leaving scabbard caught the attention of all nearby who had before then not paid heed.

Hector found himself once again staring down at Elizabeth via the pointy end of her sword.

“With an attitude like that, it would seem to be in my best interests to simply kill you now,” she said coldly, eyes glinting hard as flint. Barbossa glared grimly, but replied nothing. With the heart of her husband at stake, quite literally, he didn’t wish to push her. He’d seen her kill men for less before. “But maybe not. Maybe if you do come across our friend Francisco he’ll do the job for me, because you failed him. He didn’t strike me as the forgiving sort.”

Barbossa stared glumly around at the crew who had attained that which he’d sought for the past five years to no avail. His stare then tuned back to Elizabeth, hard as rock and cold as ice. “There’s nowhere either of us can hide, _Mrs. Turner._ ”

With a sneer truly worthy of a Pirate King, Elizabeth stalked away to the longboat, leaving the rest to follow her tracks.

“I’m not the one who always wants to run or hide,” she grumbled. “I’m always the one who votes to fight.”

But there was an uneasy feeling in her gut, and a near crippling weight upon her shoulders. At that moment, maybe she wouldn’t have minded a nice safe place to hide after all.


	21. Chapter 21

The celebration that had begun on the island raged on after relocating to the Pearl. Cookie made up a special favorite of the Brethren, a huge bowl of punch consisting of rum, sugar, lime juice, and nutmeg. The crew caroused for as long as they could stand, and as rum took its toll the ship fell surprisingly quiet, but for the snores and sleep-mumbles of passed out pirates.

Surprisingly Jack kept apart from them, holding his own bottle of rum close, watching the proceedings from his place on the quarterdeck. Since boarding back onto the Pearl he hadn’t once left the helm. He was having his own celebration, communing with the ship he loved so dearly.

Elizabeth too felt a bit off in her own world, though not of her own doing. As soon as the sun sank below the horizon an indefinable weight pressed down upon her mind.

_Don’t fight, for you are already mine._

Chills ran havok down her spine, and certainly not from cold.

How many leagues stood between they and the vampire? It was impossible to know where he was now. But the most alarming element of it all was his presence in her head. Jack too was aware of Francisco’s hunt of them, though from a different sort of evidence.

Dark shadows in the water kept pace with the Pearl, triangular dorsal fins cutting through the surface of the water. Where it was no new novelty for sharks to follow ships, feeding on the detritus tossed overboard, this was downright unnatural. In his previous encounter with Senor de Vargas, he’d found out firsthand about the strange brand of control the vampire seemed to hold over the beasties of the deep.

In fact it was a well-placed chomp, or series of them, that had sunk his last makeshift vessel. The shark had been as long as the boat itself, one of the huge great whites sailors see only on the rarest of occasions. On a brig as big as the Pearl, it mattered little, they were safe as long as the crew stayed out of the water, or out of the longboat.

It still made him quite uneasy. He’d sailed long enough to know the sea held many a mystery in her depths. He couldn’t help but wonder what else the vampire could conjure up from the deep.

Besides the obvious lack of privacy in her own head, Francisco’s presence in her mind unnerved Elizabeth for other reasons as well. Could he read her thoughts? Pick through her memories and knowledge like a book? It was impossible to know. And should they happen to meet again, which was likely, and he managed to roll her under with his eyes once again? All could be lost. She held a very important secret in her mind. Will was counting on her.

Fondling the pistol in her belt, she entertained a rather morbid solution to their dilemma, before pushing it away. No, it didn’t have to come to that. Not just yet. Looking up at Jack so contentedly steering his ship, she had a different plan.

 

 

**IIIIIIIIIII**

 

From his perch on the quarterdeck Jack watched Elizabeth approach, hands clasped behind her back. She looked deceptively well-behaved at that moment, and Jack did not believe it one whit.

“Evenin’, Miss Swa--er--Lizzy.” He seemed reluctant to use her married name. She found she herself did not relish the reminder.

“Good evening, Captain Sparrow. Permission to approach the quarterdeck?”

Chuckling, Jack leaned on the railing, looking down at her. “Tis a pirate ship, luv, not a Royal Navy vessel.”

The quarterdeck was the Captain’s and officer’s sole domain in the Navy. Pirate ships were slightly more egalitarian.

She canted her head, waiting.

After her indiscretion with the order regarding the former Commodore, Elizabeth had been extra mindful of Jack’s authority as Captain. She knew the Captaincy of a pirate vessel to be a fickle thing, precarious at best. Many new crew members had joined the Pearl, who neither really knew Jack’s ways or the way Elizabeth interacted with him. The last thing she wanted was to make it seem he did not hold full authority over the ship, letting a slip of a girl talk back to him.

It would be dangerous for them both.

Jack had noticed some of the new crew members eyeing Lizzy questioningly, no doubt wondering if the lass was up for grabs.

Yet after watching her so readily and skillfully point a sword at Barbossa’s throat, most had lost interest.

Even still, Jack made a point to keep her in his sight.

Usually his articles provisioned that no woman would be meddled with against her will, but there’d been no time for the signing of new articles as of yet.

After a long moment of regarding her from above, Jack finally nodded, a fey glint in his dark eyes. “Granted, luv.”

He watched as Elizabeth made her way up the steps, with what at least seemed to be genuine pleasure. He held out his bottle of rum in offering, and she took it without a word. He watched her swig without even a wince.

“Not sure what I think about this new habit of yours. One the one hand it pleases me down to me boots, seein’ as I knew you’d come over to me own side eventually. But at the same time your newly acquired tolerance makes it deuced difficult for me to get you good an’ drunk.”

Elizabeth took yet another swill, and handed the bottle back. “But you seem to forget, Jack, that you’ve had much more luck with me sober, God help me.”

Jack smirked. “You mean you had the luck...so to speak, before we were interrupted.”

Elizabeth smirked, quirking one dark eyebrow. “Was it luck, or skill, Captain Sparrow?”

“You decide, luv.”

A sly smile spread on her lips.

Jack found this interesting.

 _Very_ interesting, to be exact.

“Does this mean your misplaced feelings of guilt have been effectively assuaged?”

She leaned against the gunwale, arms crossed. “I wouldn’t go that far, but I have other things on my mind at the moment. Such as, if a vampire plunges a dagger through Will’s heart in anger when he realizes my oh-so-moral husband will not comply with his demands, my own indiscretions don’t seem to be of much import.”

“Perhaps that’s reason enough to not worry about the heart, then. Or at least reason enough for _me_ to not worry about the heart...”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “You could say that. Perhaps, you have no real reason to worry about the heart, except for the fact that Will is your friend.”

“We’re...friend _ish_. Never quite been the same ever since he saw you kiss me...never mind the fact that you viciously killed me afterwards... Now what’s all this about the heart?”

Jack watched with interest as Elizabeth slipped under his arm, so that she stood with the helm at her back.

 _Very_ interesting indeed.

As he reached up to finger a stray blond lock of hair she said, “I need your help, Jack.”

“How’s that?”

She leaned forward to tell him what ailed her mind, whispering in his ear. Her breath against his skin was sweet, but the words sent his mind a reeling. So did the feel of her soft hair against his cheek, that sweet womanly smell that was most completely hers engulfing him, and the hot line of her lithe body molded against his front. It simply wasn’t fair at all.

At the finish of her tale of woe he leaned back to look in her eyes, orbs the color of cocoa and luminous as honey poured out in the sun. “You’re bankin’ an awful lot on me, luv. More to the point, an awful lot on my ability to think of some clever solution on the fly.”

“It’s what you do best.”

“Ye don’t think that maybe all too often that’s the solution to the messes we get into?” Truthfully the thought of taking on yet another crisis freewheeling and dealing made him feel a little tired.

Maybe he _was_ getting old.

In that moment he thought of Lizzy’s cottage by the sea, and how simple life had seemed there. Was Jack Sparrow ready to find a warm nook ashore with a pretty lass?

Maybe not _quite_. Though a pretty lass aboard his ship certainly improved matters drastically.

“It usually works out quite well,” she mused, and her faith in him was daunting.

He searched her face. Was she teasing him? No, she was completely and totally bloody earnest. She believed in him. God help them both.

“Usually.” Jack leaned forward slowly, pinning her against the helm with his hips. Immediately that delicious warmth overtook Elizabeth, and she feared she might already be lost to this beautiful, infuriating, pirate. “Me latest conundrum has been how to get ye alone in my cabin, and I haven’t had much success with _that_ yet.”

 _Give it time,_ thought Elizabeth, but she did not voice it aloud. He needed no encouragement. He began to close the remaining space between them, intent on kissing her. With her back to the helm one would think it would have been a bit difficult to evade him, but she managed, ducking from his lips when a sudden desire gripped her, an interest in his neck she could not deny.

She licked the skin lightly, tasting the salt and sweat that once again flavored Jack Sparrow’s skin. He stood quietly, content to let her have her way for now, whatever it was she had in mind. Encouraged, she leaned against him, molding their bodies into one perfect line. He groaned as she kissed his neck, ever so gently. Scarlette, Giselle, and all the others, were never so delicate with their ministrations, if there ever were any.

Perhaps it was new curiosity. Elizabeth could still be considered inexperienced in this game, though she was a quick study.

As she laved attention on the pirates’ skin, a sudden impulse struck her to bite him. It was so strong, so completely encompassing that for a few blinding moments all she wanted was to sink teeth into his skin. But at the same time, the idea was so alien to her, so strange, that she resisted. And then she realized the thought by no means had been of her own design.

Horrified, terrified, she recoiled from Jack, ducking under his arm again faster than he could catch her. “He’s in my head,” she hissed with alarm, hands gripping fistfuls of golden hair, pulling with intense distress.

Sensing something was more wrong than he could immediately make out, Jack threw the rope on the helm to keep the Pearl steering true. “I very nearly bit your neck!” she exclaimed. “A sensory memory struck me--the hot sticky rush of blood after opening a vein, the coppery taste in my mouth...it wasn’t my memory. The bastard’s in my head!”

Elizabeth’s wild eyed look alarmed Jack. It was the look of someone about to do something stupid. Usually it was only the whelp he had to worry about for that. “Lizzy luv, it’s alright,” he said, taking a step towards her. She held up her hands, as though to ward off a blow.

“Don’t touch me,” she warned. “You can’t trust me now, God knows what he can make me do...”

“Elizabeth...”

She evaded his arms once again, leaping upon the gunwale of the ship. “I’ll put a bullet in my head before I give you what you want!” she shouted wildly out at the black waters. Her only anchor was a death grip upon a stretch of rigging. “You can’t have me! You can’t have _any_ of us!”

Alarmed by her precarious position on the gunwale, thinking of the lurking predators that awaited her should she fall, Jack leapt forward, dragging her down with an arm about her willowy waist. She struggled against him, but he held fast, weathering the storm of her sudden fury. “Easy, darlin’!” he exclaimed, struggling to keep hold. She did not struggle as a girl anymore, but as someone who knew how to handle herself in a scrap.

“Let go, Jack! You can’t trust me! I’ll hurt you!”

“Bloody hell,” he swore as she tore away, but soon found herself entrapped in his arms once again. He crushed her to him, one arm around her waist, the other hand pressing her head to his chest. “Easy, luv, easy,” he soothed again. “He’s not going to get any of us.” She quieted but quivered like a leaf, just waiting for the wind to tear her away from her branch, from all she’d ever known. “It’s going to be alright,” he assured her, petting her hair. “I won’t let Francisco get his mitts anywhere near the heart, savvy?”

She nodded, but could not speak. A sob had risen in her throat, was stuck there, refusing to come out, refusing to let any other sounds past. Finally it dissipated, and slowly Jack loosened his hold, no longer feeling as though he needed to subdue a madwoman ready to plunge herself into the deep.

“You _are_ a good man, Jack,” she said quietly, relaxing against him. “I don’t care what you try to make the rest of us believe. Deep down, you’re a good man.”

Jack sighed. At that moment, he felt so tired.

Exhausted.

Of everything. Of life, that had no discernible meaning, yet they humans had to endure the misery and joy of it, every day.

For once, thoughts of seducing Elizabeth slipped his mind. All he wanted was to lie down in his berth with her, pull her soft warmth near and fall into a deep sleep to the steady sound of her breathing. He wanted to lose himself in a world all their own again.

“Just don’t go tellin’ anyone, it’ll ruin me hard won reputation. Savvy?”

“Savvy.” she agreed quietly, settling into the warmth under his chin. The storm had subsided, and they rocked in the waves, wondering what would come next. Jack had learned long ago that try as he might to predict it, there was no way to bloody know.

Oh, how bloody funny, he thought. For once in his life, Jack Sparrow actually had an idea of what he wanted.

Should he have consulted his compass, the needle would have pointed unwaveringly.

He wanted Lizzy. Maybe not for always, but _always_ for sometimes.

He nearly laughed, and nearly cried, because this was the one thing the immortal Jack Sparrow seemed he couldn’t have. Will was a million miles and a million worlds away, ant still the pirate couldn’t escape the whelp’s shadow.

 


	22. Chapter 22

Hector Barbossa could not remember the last time he’d been so idle. He was not a typical pirate: unlike most others, he did not use any and all of his spare time to laze about the deck swilling rum. He used it to draw charts. Read. Make plans for their next business venture. That’s why he was a good captain. A great captain! But somewhere along the line he’d misstepped. Jack Sparrow and L’Agua de Vida alluded him, and eventually sneaked up from behind. Clever bastard.

Was he losing his edge? Getting old? Should Hector Barbossa not have been seeking immortality, but a nice warm nook ashore?

Not bloody likely. So he sat on the beach, his only bottle of rum in hand, divested of all his finery but trousers and shirt sleeves. He’d checked the old rum runner’s hold, Jack had divested the island of every last drop of any consumable substance. The old pirate watched the sun slip below the surface of the water, watched the pinks and oranges and purples of the sunset, the blue of the water, all fade eventually to an inky black.

“Damn you, Jack Sparrow.” he sighed, taking a swill from the bottle.

“Jack Sparrow, you say?”

Barbossa had not detected a new comer’s approach, yet he was not especially surprised to find himself suddenly sharing his little island with the vampire Francisco de Vargas. In fact, he’d very nearly expected it.

“Ah, we meet again, Don de Vargas. Yes, Jack Sparrow has made off with my ship. So if you have a need to find him still, we could go take it back this very moment.” He smiled, which actually more closely resembled a snarl.

“But I’m afraid I don’t need him anymore,” said the vampire. Barbossa dared a glance up at him. Francisco’s dark clothes swathed him in shadow--only a diamond ring on his finger glinted in the bright moonlight.

“Found another way to World’s End, did you?”

“ _Si_ , I have. Someone who has been there before. I believe you know him, a first mate Joshamee Gibbs.”

Barbossa nodded. “So he has, and yes I do.”

“And I was surprised to learn that you as well have been there, Captain Barbossa. Or is it just Barbossa, now?”

“Captain, if you please.” Hector’s bravado made the vampire smile, ever so slightly.

“You lead me to believe I was in need of this chart to find my way, when you could have taken me all along.” There was a note of venom in Francisco’s otherwise calm voice, that made Barbossa’s blood run a tad cold. But still, he refused to be browbeaten, and a little extra rum is his system only reinforced his stubborn defiance. “I’ve been there once and I don’t intend to voluntarily ever go again. I won’t be bullied.”

“No, I did not think you would be. You are an exceptional, if not unlucky, man. So tell me, what progress have you made on your end of our deal? If your news is promising, perhaps I will not eat you.”

“Well then, you have a few options. You could go chase down Elizabeth Swann cum Turner, who is aboard the Pearl this very moment, to get the key we so sorely need, hoping to catch them before they’ve gone and done something infuriatingly clever to protect the heart of friend and husband. Those two have a history of being exceptionally devious, you know.”

Franciso was obviously not pleased with this option. “Or?” he asked, voice impatient.

“OR, you could give me a ride off this abominable island, and we could go fetch the trunk containing the heart right now. I’ve seen her map, and I’m confident in my ability to lead you to it.”

It occurred to Francisco that if he wished he quite simply could extract the information from Barbossa’s trap of a mind. But the man could still prove useful in times to come, he was a dangerously clever man.

“And how might one get into this chest?”

“A key, though I cannot claim to have it in my possession any longer.”

“I presume you know where it is?” Francisco asked with a lordly sneer.

“That I do. Let’s find the chest first, then go to Elizabeth Swann--er, Turner, for the key.”

“And you, my friend, are hoping we would have occasion to find her on the Pearl, where you will find your ship, and L’Agua de Vida, no doubt.”

“No doubt.”

Francisco nodded. “Very well. Let us go, then.”

“I knew you’d see things my way.”


	23. Chapter 23

Elizabeth stood at the gunwale for much of the night, watching the dark beasts easily keeping pace with the ship, cutting through the water. Jack steered the Pearl silently, keeping one eye on the lady, not wanting another possible mishap a la railing.

She was too far away. She was not in his arms, and therefore, she was simply too far away.

“C’mere, Lizzy luv,” he called, and Elizabeth turned her eyes to him. Those honeyed brown eyes held all the weight of the world in them. She was too young to have a look like that.

Without a word she crossed the deck to him, expecting another proposition, perhaps a kiss or an embrace. What she entirely did _not_ expect was Jack to draw her into the circle of his arms, her back to him, and place her hands upon the pegs of the helm.

A sudden scintillating thrill ran through her. She glanced back at the pirate, and her eyes held that spark of vitality again, like the girl he once knew. And _oh_ , what a magnificent ship the Pearl was. It was nothing like steering her little Free Swann II. She could feel everything from the helm. Everything from the ocean currents pulling at the rudder, the waves slapping at the hull, the roll of the keel as she cut through the water, and the wind that filled their sails, pulling them forward. The ship thrummed like a living breathing beast, and Elizabeth wasn’t sure that in her own way, the Pearl wasn’t just that.

“Oh, Jack,” she sighed, leaning back against him. She knew what a huge gesture this was for the pirate, to relinquish the helm of his precious Pearl to her.

“Keep ‘er true, darlin’” Jack whispered in her ear, unable to suppress his own grin. It made him ridiculously happy to make her happy. It almost seemed too simple. There had to be a catch.

Then he remembered there _was_ a catch. Lizzy could never be completely his. He could not give her his name, and she could not give him her whole heart. Never ever in his life before had such a thing interested him, but this girl, this Pirate King, was rewriting the rules of the game. She was writing them upon his heart, with her smiles and her luminous brown eyes and her sweet kisses.

 _Blasted_ girl.

Jack nuzzled the skin behind Lizzy’s ear, kissing her lightly, winning a sigh filled with longing. His hands travelled down her arms, dragging over the ladder of her ribcage, the curves of her waist and swell of her hips. His touch made her knees positively knock, and it felt ridiculously good just to lean back against him, the Pearl at her fingertips and her pirate Captain at her back. “Jack, I can’t possibly concentrate when you do that,” she whispered.

“Ye mean this, luv?” he teased, his possessive hands roaming low on her belly, just barely grazing inside the waistband of her trousers.

She gasped, and the Pearl listed to starboard. Chuckling, Jack reached out to catch the helm, bringing her back onto course. “Tryin’ for Hispaniola again, luv?” he teased. “This is why I can’t let you steer.”

Elizabeth felt quite content to relinquish the helm, held in the warm circle of Jack’s arms. But he didn’t take it away from her, just covered her hands with his larger mitts on the pegs. “What ever would I do without you?” she asked coyly, turning to kiss his cheek.

Jack paused, a glimmer of sorrow surfacing in his eyes, before disappearing into the black depths once again. “Ye do just fine without me, Lizzy girl.”

Elizabeth thought of the past five years she’d spent without Jack. The depths of despair she’d travelled, and the state of numb she’d lived in. She managed to get on with life efficiently, but she really hadn’t been _fine_ , she realized. Even with the threat of Francisco looming large, she was happier now with Jack than she’d _ever_ been.

She bit down on the urge not to beg him not to leave her ashore again, once this adventure was through. She settled for saying simply, “I prefer being with you, to without you, Jack.”

Inwardly the pirate captain groaned. What the devil was this woman doing to him?

He kissed the bend of her throat, resting his head upon her shoulder. They stood like that for a long time, slotted together like fitted shards of the original clay. Eventually Elizabeth shifted, catching Jack’s lips in a gentle kiss. “I’m exhausted, Jack. May I borrow your berth?”

Jack fought the urge to say something damning, like _what’s mine is yours. Take it all._

He managed to simply nod, appraising her thoughtfully. As though she knew very well what he ruminated on, a small smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Will you join me when the watch changes?”

Jack’s mouth suddenly felt dry, and he knew all the rum in the world could not sate his thirst. Only this girl before him, his beautiful and terrible Pirate King, his lovely Lizzy girl.

Again, he simply nodded, and Elizabeth’s smile was bright enough to rival the moon that hung low on the horizon.

Squeezing his arm with affection, with _promise_ , Elizabeth retreated beneath to the stairs. With one more fleeting glance back at Jack, she descended from the quarterdeck.

Time passed, seemingly hardly any at all, before the watch changed and another came to the helm for the next shift. Jack did not know him, but the pirate smiled a single toothed grin at the legendary Jack Sparrow, pleased to be aboard.

“Get some sleep, Cap’n. I’ll steer ‘er true.”

Reluctantly, Jack relinquished the helm, fingers sliding lightly from her wheel peg as a lover would give a parting caress.

It was _so_ good to be back again. But even the immortal Jack Sparrow needed rest, and fatigue from a full day of hijinx pulled at his eyelids. Better yet, a very special bedmate awaited him below. Jack practically skipped to his cabin, pushing open the door quietly.

There she was.

Elizabeth, curled up on her side in his berth. Her long hair spilled free across the pillow, and in this state, with her eyes closed and not sparking fire, her mouth silent and not spouting infuriating and funny words, her face at rest, she very much resembled an angel.

It appeared she was wearing one of his cleaner cotton lawn shirts. He wondered _what_ _else_? He hoped _nothing else._

Jack contemplated waking her, but decided at that moment what he wanted more was to sleep with her beside him. He undressed and slipped into the bed, careful not to wake her. It felt right as rain to drape an arm around her waist, pull her curves against him, and drift into a deep sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

“This Elizabeth must be quite a woman, braving all this to hide her husband’s heart,” commented Francisco. They had sailed to the island, actually rather near to where Barbossa had been marooned. It was jungly and mountainous, sweat poured off Barbossa in buckets, keeping up with the path he’d committed to memory.

They’d climbed, crossed slippery rocks over streams, scaled rock face that seemed nearly impassable, even swung over a deep crevice on vines. It was arduous for the human, not so much the vampire. At times Barbossa was even carried during steep climbs, to make travel easier and faster. Barbossa knew, from hearsay of vampires, that they possessed super human strength. But until then, he did not understand truly understand, the strength that lay in Francisco’s arms. The vampire lifted Barbossa as though he were merely a feather, made leaps bearing the extra weight as though he had wings.

Hector couldn’t help but muse on the journey Elizabeth must have made, on a mission to safeguard her husband’s heart. She must have made the journey all alone, spent the night on the island, possibly even several, finding the perfect place to hide it and mapping an exact course, should she need to find it again.

After their last adventure together Barbossa had acquired a respect for the young woman. She’d turned into quite a pirate. Vicious, wily, deadly with a blade, even more so as the years had passed. Could he think of any other woman who equaled her sense of adventure, her steel to do the impossible because it needed to be done? No. none came to mind.

He suspected the famed Grace O’Malley may have been a kindred spirit, but the Irish pirate was not in his long list of acquaintances. So he finally answered the vampire’s esteemed comment with one of his own. “Aye, that she is. A foe to be reckoned with, I will caution you.”

“I had very little trouble with her, upon our first acquaintance, in Tortuga.”

“Perhaps, but you caught her unawares. She’s a bit more prepared now, I should expect.”

Francisco smiled, a poisonous curl of lips. He had not been able to establish quite the connection of control he wanted, but he still could pry a little into her thoughts. She’d had quite a fit of nerves earlier this evening. He sensed and savored her fear like a fine wine.

Jack Sparrow would not always be there to keep her from plunging.

“Very few people are accustomed to my kind,” Francisco said confidently. “I do not expect difficulty in keeping her on her toes.”

Barbossa shrugged. He didn’t really like the vampire much, and a small part of him was rooting for Elizabeth’s side. But, however, the other ninety percent of him really, _really_ wanted the Agua de Vida. And at the present moment in time, that seemed to indicate working with the bastard.

“Well, let’s find the chest first, eh?” Intent on just that, Barbossa pulled aside some vines, revealing a cave cutting into the side of the mountain. They were high up, and the view would have been stunning by daylight. It wasn’t half bad by the stars and moon, which hung full and bright. Even with the extra blue light, Barbossa still had trouble with the darkness.

Had it not been for torches of dried palm fronds bore by a few of Francisco’s fanged crew, he wouldn’t have been able to find the way. The torch bearers went first into the cave. It began as a passable cavern, but as they traipsed on the passage narrowed and narrowed. Barbossa began to be alarmed, knowing that Elizabeth was skinny as a stick and could fit into spaces far smaller than what would accommodate his girth.

Finally it got to a point where no one could continue. “We won’t fit, _Capitaine_ ,” said Carlos, first mate and one of the torch bearers. Francisco raised a dark eyebrow, and by the unforgiving expression upon his face, Barbossa expected him to mutter, “Then make yourself fit.”

Instead, the next words from Don de Vargas were addressed to him. “And what directions from here, Captain Barbossa? Are we close?”

“Supposedly its in a niche containing our prize at the end of this cave, however far that may be. Maybe we need Elizabeth after all to fetch it. Or a child...”

Francisco waved it off. “Perhaps most men cannot fit into the crannies her svelte figure can pass, but I will make do.” Barbossa had seen many a strange thing in this world, but he still doubted his eyes for what happened next. Francisco melted into a silvery mist, and slipped past them down into the depths of the cave.

“Did he really just turn into a wisp of fog?”

Carlos turned glittering black eyes to him. Hector couldn’t help but feel unnerved, being alone in the cave with the two remaining vampires. “It is a talent we lesser vampires do not yet posses,” Carlos finally explained, fangs glinting in the fire light. “Shall we wait outside?”

The cave was stuffy, close, and smelled heavily of bat guano. Outside it was. They sat outside the cave, hunkered down on some mossy rocks and waited. The sky was just beginning to lighten with the coming dawn, and Hector noticed the two vampires eyeing it nervously. “Perhaps we take shelter in the cave?” one suggested.

“Or perhaps we return to the ship.” All three jumped at Francisco’s sudden appearance. Even the vampires did not detect their captain’s approach. He stood quietly, the chest clasped in his hands. Barbossa hadn’t seen it for a while, its presence echoed of an old adventure and the days of Davy Jones’ tyranny over the sea. Those days were gone now: a new heart beat in its place. But now that Francisco held the chest in his slender nobleman’s hands, Barbossa couldn’t help but wonder for how long.


	25. Chapter 25

Snoozing in a tangle of limbs with Elizabeth felt like the most natural thing in the world to Jack. It was only with the arrival of morning light streaming through the window, and a bit of wakeful consciousness did Jack remember that this _wasn’t_ common place, no matter how right it felt.

In fact, it was _quite_ special.

Extraordinarily so.

It was an opportunity not to be slept away.

With the intention of waking her, but also of exploration for exploration’s sake, Jack’s fingers slid across her curves, over the worn but clean cotton lawn of his shirt she wore, and the smooth expanse of long thigh peeking out from beneath it. He realized, much to his personal delight, that she was wearing one and only one article of clothing once again.

Elizabeth stirred at his gentle touch, but did not wake. His fingers moved on, roaming to caress her hair, blindingly golden in this light. He traced her forehead, the straight line of her nose, and then on to that plump bottom lip he longed to take between his teeth that very moment.

He kissed her softly, and Elizabeth groaned, a small sleepy smile upon her lips.

She stirred, and suddenly Jack found himself staring down into those lovely café con leche eyes.

“Mornin’, luv,” he said with a smile, propping his head upon his hand.

“Good morning,” she greeted, rolling over onto her back. Her lips curled in a lazy, smile.

“Indeed,” agreed Jack. “It is a _very_ good morning.”

She reached up to brush a stray raven lock from his face, and he caught her hand, planting a kiss on her palm. Eyes never leaving hers, so dark and all consuming, he slipped one long digit between his lips, teeth scraping at the pad of her finger in such a way that sent shivers down her spine. “Jack....”

Smiling wolfishly, he pinned her hand above her head, leaning over her.

“Jack what?” he asked playfully, kissing the curve of her throat in a way that made her toes curl. “Jack…please?” He nipped at her chin, and ducked lower, kissing the triangle of skin exposed by the open collar of her shirt. She smelled intoxicatingly of her coconut soap, of salt, sweat, and her own skin. “Jack…don’t stop?” With his teeth he loosened some of the lacings, nudging the soft lawn from the side of her breast, kissing the plump soft flesh. “Or Jack, touch me _right_ there.”

An exasperated sigh of longing escaped her, and she only _just_ managed to squirm away before he could kiss her pert pink nipple. “Jack, _wait_ ,” she rasped, eyes suddenly a little too wide.

The pirate paused, sensing something was off.

Had she changed her mind?

There was something damnable in a proper English upbringing, a kneejerk impulse to always say _no_ to that which a person most decidedly wishes to say _yes._

He feared their culprit perhaps lay there.

“Wait for what, Lizzy?” His tone was teasing, yet there was and edge of something surprisingly sharp in his words. “I want you and you want me. We’re finally here together, the way we were supposed to be all along. What else is there?

She made him crazy inside. Absolutely insane. His world was closing in, to where there was room for only three things. The Pearl. The Sea. And Elizabeth. He wasn’t even sure what order those three things ranked anymore, but he suspected she was fast climbing the list. It scared him, but he’d decided to surrender to his fear. It infuriated him that she would still cling to hers.

Elizabeth’s jaw hung open at hearing his words, her heart clenching in her chest. _The way we were supposed to be all along._ Never before had Jack completely thrown his cards upon the table, but here they were.

What else was there, indeed?

What else had there ever been, but him?

His eyes positively bored into her, filled with desire and fire and anger too. She’d finally pushed him to the edge. The edge of reason, the edge of self-control.

She closed her eyes, just to escape that penetrating gaze, breathing deeply. It only filled her nostrils with the scent of him, the exotic scent of his skin that always sent her reeling. Her chest clenched, and she felt a sudden surge of tears well up behind her eyelids, flowing out to stream down her cheeks.

Immediately Jack softened. Oh Lord, now he’d made her cry... He pulled her closer, kissing the corners of her eyes. “Lizzy…”

Finally she dared to open her eyes, regarding him through slit lids.

Ever so gently, his thumb swept below the corner of her eye, coming away with a single trembling tear that glittered in the pure morning sunlight. He studied it quivering at the tip of his thumb, as though it were a jewel of great worth, before turning his gaze back to her. “I ain’t worth this, luv,” he said quietly. “If that’s all I really do for you, ye really shouldn’t be here.”

All her life, she’d lived in such a _cold_ place. Her upbringing trained her to keep an iron control of her feelings. To appear bored, when everything in life was so _very_ wonderful. Jack had a way of bursting in upon her world and setting everything on fire. He thawed her heart, where after Will’s departure there had been only ice for so long.

Everyone always seemed to have an agenda for Elizabeth. Her father wanted to marry her off to a nice gentleman, because that was what was done. Norrington wanted to marry her because she was _a fine woman_ , whatever that meant. Yes, he loved her, but James would have never considered it without that presupposed criterion. Will, love her as he did, placed her on a pedestal in his head, expected her to resemble the angel her comely features suggested.

And what did Jack do? Of course, he’d used her person to meet his own ends before. Took her hostage after rescuing her from a watery grave to escape Norrington and his soldiers. Well, he had gotten into the mess all because of her, so quid pro quo. He’d also used her affection for Will to find the dead man’s chest. He’d nearly sacrificed her with the rest of the crew to the kraken, but he came back. And then she killed him. QPQ again.

She could count a dozen other instances, but none of these things, _none_ of them ever demanded something of her she was not, or couldn’t be. Time and time again, Jack was the one who held a mirror to her face and challenged her to see her _true_ self. That was the greatest gift, the greatest _freedom_ , anyone could ever offer a human being.

Slowly she shook her head. “It isn’t like that,” she whispered, attempting to harness the hurricane inside, the howling maelstrom of emotion. “It’s just…you make me feel _everything_ ,” she tried to explain, knowing those words were not sufficient, even as she felt this great typhoon of emotion crashing through her.

But Jack nodded, seeming to understand all too well. He cupped the side of her face, brushing the stray golden locks away so that he could see her in entirety. “I think I know what ye mean,” he said softy. “I can make it all go quiet, luv. At least, for a little while.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. That small tenderness began to quell the howling inside, made her feel just _a tad_ less insane between her head and her heart. She reached up to trace the lines of Jack’s face with her fingertips. The noble line of his brow, his straight patrician nose, and that lush full lower lip. For a pirate, beneath the wild coiffure and bandana, beads and twin braided beard, his handsome features were ridiculously, perhaps _unfairly,_ classical.

As she mapped the face of this man who lay beside her, this wonderful, infuriating, intoxicating, pirate, Elizabeth’s heart swelled with a warmth she absolutely could not describe. It was powerful and all consuming, it almost hurt and yet also she relaxed, a certain resolve settling over her. She knew in that moment that she loved Jack Sparrow. She loved him in a way she’d never loved Will. She loved him in a way that she could not walk away or hide from. She didn’t know if she could ever tell him in those exact words.

 _I love you_ somehow seemed too mundane for this _thing_ that laughed and pulsed inside her like a living breathing creature of light.

But she knew that it was true. Jack had stolen her heart, as surely as a chest full of treasure. He possessed a part of her Will had never fathomed, much less could have ever touched.

Jack watched her face change from inches away, watched the fear melt away from her warm mocha brown eyes, and would have given his right pinky finger to know what exactly she was thinking.

But instead an impish little smile curled her lips, and she held the side of his face in her elegant hands.

“Well then, Captain Sparrow,” she said quietly. “Shall we negotiate the terms of my surrender?”

Instantly the mischievous light returned to Jack’s dark eyes, his expression filled with joy and delight. He recognized her words for what they were: a white flag raised high, waving in the breeze. A part of him thought he would never live to truly see the day.

“Negotiate away,” he acquiesced, leaning down to kiss her gently. “What is it the Pirate King desires?”

In that moment, he could not think of a thing, not a single thing in the world, that he would not pay to possess her. Gold and riches. Promises and vows. Marr-i-age, even, for in legal terms she and Will certainly had no bloody proof or certificate of their union. He would even pay time ashore—though hopefully it would be brief. And it would, for he suspected his Lizzy loved the sea as much as he.

Elizabeth paused. What did she truly want, that she didn’t already have, here in this berth upon the Pearl? There was _one_ thing she needed, one thing she dared request.

“When this adventure is over, promise you won’t forget about me?”

Jack stiffened, his brow furrowing. When had he _ever_ forgotten about her? Not after the first time he’d sailed away, and certainly not after the second. Oh, but he had left her alone, so _very_ alone, and perhaps that was what she meant. It was hardly a negotiation at all, for he greatly hoped that if they survived this adventure, he could convince her to haul away with him on the Pearl.

But that was a potentially sticky, possibly messy, discussion about that uncertain span of time known as the _future_. It was a discussion, he felt, that very much belonged in the future. In his favorite point in time, being the _present_ , he found it was a very easy thing just to nod. “Granted, luv. Absolutely, unequivocally, resolutely, granted.” And he leaned down to kiss her, deep and long and slow.


	26. Chapter 26

When he slid the lawn shirt up over her head she did not protest, surrendering her body to his eyes and his wicked, clever, hands. Jack groaned for the sight of her, so buxom and golden in the clear morning light. A small smile curled the corners of her mouth. She seemed to enjoy being appraised by him, being regarded as something precious and fine.

As he caressed her skin, reacquainted himself with some parts of her body and explored others anew, a warm elation spread through Jack. It was a little like being drunk, it dulled the constant ache of consciousness, and made the world seem a little more beautiful, a little more bearable. He found himself thinking that this was something he could get used to. He could drink a little less, and make love to Lizzy a lot more.

_Make love._

When was the last time he’d even _thought_ those words? Had anyone ever meant as much to him as Elizabeth? There was a shadow of a memory in his past, of a saucy barmaid in a tavern back in England, a girl he’d cared for and would visit on shore leave. She’d begged him to marry her and he wouldn’t, because he never wanted to be like his Da, to have a woman who depended on him on shore half a world away. He never saw her again after the run in with the East India Trading Company. He hadn’t really thought about her, until this moment.

Perhaps that had been a kind of love, but it had been nothing like _this._ This mad, howling need to have Elizabeth by his side, to possess her and keep her. Could he tell his younger self that a woman would make him feel this way someday, his younger self would have called him stark raving mad.

His younger self may have been right, but Jack didn’t care.

“What, Jack?” Elizabeth whispered, caressing his thick ropey hair.

Jack looked up from his place with his mouth low on her belly, his dark eyes suddenly wide with alarm. Had he been talking to himself this whole time? Maybe he _was_ bloody daft, and what exactly had she heard?

“Said you’re beautiful,” he smoothly lied. Elizabeth smiled knowingly, clearly not believing him.

“Liar.” There was laughter in her honey brown eyes, and she stroked the line of his cheek lovingly. He leaned into her touch, as a flower follows the sun.

“Pirate, luv.”

Hoping to distract her, he continued on his original path, dipping his tongue in her belly button. She gasped, tilting her head back.

“Jack…”

“You liked this, remember, luv?” he coaxed, kissing the inside of her thigh, and involuntarily her legs spread wider, inviting him in.

“I did. I do…” she corrected, her head lolling to the side as his breath ghosted over her curls. She moaned as he kissed her center, his full lips and clever mouth upon her seeming to make the room spin. “But I want…I need you inside me. Now. Please.”

Jack lifted his head to regard her across the span of her naked body. She met his gaze dead on, need in her eyes too strong for him to deny. He understood, all too well. They had waited so long, what felt like a lifetime, to finally be together. This time could be fleeting, precious, and couldn’t be squandered.

Climbing her body once more, Jack settled his hips between her thighs, the motion as easy and natural as though it had been done a thousand times before. She could feel him hovering at her entrance, and with a pleading sound she rocked her hips against him, trying to reach him. “Jack,” she pleaded, pressed into the bend of his neck.

“Look at me, luv,” he requested, holding himself above her on his elbows. He wanted to watch her face, needed to see her as he made them one. She laid back on the pillow, her hair a wild mane of gold about her. She was so beautiful it hurt, this fine creature that seemed carved and gilded by a renaissance master’s skillful hand.

“ _Please_ , Jack,” she pleaded again, and he broke, slowly rocking his hips forward, until he lay sheathed completely inside her. She held his gaze up until the end, when he filled her so completely that she had to rock her head back into the pillow, sighing with pleasure and contentment.

But he paused above her, trembling and taut. “Am I hurting you?”

Maybe it hurt a little, but nothing like the pain of her first time. Besides, she was used to her time with Jack always having some edge to it—why would making love with him be any different?

With a smile she shook her head in the negative, pulling him deeper with heels against that delectably round derriere of his, winning a pained groan from deep in his chest.

“No. You make me feel whole,” she told him, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat.

Elizabeth stared up at him half liddedly, and he found at that moment he couldn’t read her. Was it rapture? Pain? Happiness? Pleasure? He realized in a triumphant and terrifying moment that it was none of those: it was trust.

The little sounds she made beneath his touch drove him wild, and he trembled with the urge to take her, to drive himself inside over and over. Instead he moved slowly, rocking against her, and soon they found a rhythm between them. For every question there was an answer between their bodies, for every hollow a corresponding curve. She loved the pleasure of Jack’s mouth, but _this_ , this sublime pleasure taken from him being within her, his body moving against hers, was simply divine.

She did not think about Will, or the fact that her infidelity would indeed be condemned as worse because it was Jack she chose to share it with. And yet, who else _would_ it be, but Jack? It was not a casual lust that had undone her will of steel, but a long unfulfilled desire to be a part of a man who knew her heart and soul better than anyone else ever could.

Elizabeth was _bliss_ Jack found himself thinking. Being inside her, feeling her writhing beneath his body, her hands on his chest and his back, her kisses upon his neck. He’d fantasized about this moment more times than he could possibly count. He’d dreamed of all the ways he would take her, everything he wanted to show her. But this first time he found there could only be _this_. Her young lithe body beneath his, engulfed in his arms. Plain ol’ vanilla missionary. It was decidedly intimate, and for that reason he’d always avoided it with the doxies and his other various lovers. But with Elizabeth, for this first time, it seemed nothing else would do.

For her moans and sighs and the delicious way she moved against him, he didn’t think she minded.

How could Will have gone back to the sea, after only experiencing her once? Jack suspected that had he been in the whelp’s place, he would have found a loophole by now, weasled his way out, and back to her.

But Will wasn’t like Jack. Will was an honest man. A martyr. He would do his honest duty to the very end. That was why Elizabeth was there with Jack in the first place. Was why she let Jack touch her, explore her secret treasure. He knew he was second to Will in the grand scheme of things, yet at that moment, Jack did not feel bitter about this. He wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.

_So bully for you, dear William, I’ll stay here and take care of your girl._

He knew Elizabeth neared her completion, her back arched beneath him, taut as a bow, her face contorted in an expression of pure pleasure. He slipped a hand between them as he pushed inside her, giving her that little extra nudge off the edge into a shining paradise that shook her to the bone. She writhed beneath him, burying her face in the bend of his neck, a cry escaping her that was almost a sob. He felt her young body clench and quiver around him, knowing he would come too.

A very crazy notion gripped hold of him, the temptation to spill deep inside her, not for the sake of pleasure but with the express desire to fill her womb with a piece of him. To do that which the whelp had not managed. To have a child with Elizabeth, to stand by her side and watch it grow. A child with wild golden locks and mischievous black eyes running wild about the Pearl…

But in the end, as that ultimate pleasure rushed through his loins, Jack regained a bit of his sanity. Quickly he withdrew, shuddering as he spilled upon Elizabeth’s taut belly. With a groan he collapsed upon her, burying his nose in her hair. She held him to her, unwilling to let go just yet, stroking his back with the tips of her fingers in a way that won her a shiver rolling down his spine.

They lay on the berth as though they were dead, bones reduced to jelly, for quite some time. It seemed like it could have been hours to Jack, before he found the strength to lift himself up onto one elbow. Elizabeth looked down at the puddle upon her belly, understanding all too well, knowing she hadn’t had a single coherent thought in her mind about the possibility of a child in their moment of passion. There was relief, but also a twinge of regret in her.

A child with Jack--what a grand adventure.

And yet she’d tried before and had not been successful. What if she wasn’t able? What if she lost his too? It would destroy her, utterly and thoroughly, she knew. And for that, in the end, she said, “Thank you, Jack.”

Jack kissed her, a kiss so sweet it shouldn’t be possible that it came from a pirate’s mouth. “Maybe some other time, luv,” he teased her, but there was _something_ in his soulful dark eyes, and she wasn’t sure if he was really teasing at all.

Relaxing in Jack’s arms, her naked body pressed to the length of his, Elizabeth traced the scars and tattoos written across his chest, toyed with the dusting of curled black hair upon his pectorals. He stroked her shoulders and spine, sending delicious little chills marching across her body. _My god_ , she thought. _Already, I want him again_.

In a dreamy voice she broke the contented silence of the cabin. “The island.”

Jack stirred from his own reverie, looking down at the gilded goddess curled against his side. “What was that, darlin’?”

“You asked how long I’ve wanted you. My answer is the island. I was so frightened that you would ravish me, and when it became apparent that you wouldn’t, I found that I was so very disappointed.” She laughed, turning a cheeky grin up to him. “I cannot tell you how many nights my dreams took me back to that desert isle, ruminating on all the things I wished I’d had the courage to say and do.”

Jack’s heart swelled with something warm and decidedly damning. It definitely had not been honor that kept him from trying to seduce her in the end. It had been that old friend Rum. And with friends like that, who needs enemies?

He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a shout from outside of “Port Royal ho!”

With a groan, Jack pulled Elizabeth closer, for once frustrated with the Pearl’s exceptional alacrity. “Why don’t we just drop off Norry and you slip out with me?”

Nested under the pirate’s chin, curled up in his warmth and bare skin, that was exactly what she wanted to do.

“I can’t,” she sighed, and Jack could hear the pure reluctance in her voice. Perhaps even dread. He’d known that would be her answer, and then a sort of terror gripped him. Their whole plan was based on his ability to slip under that bastard de Vargas’s nose, while she distracted him, all by her onesies.

Alone.

With a monster that already seemed to have some sort of hold on her mind.

“I don’t think this is one of our finer ideas, luv.”

In fact, it seemed downright _stupid_.

“Neither do I,” she confessed. “But it’s the best one I’ve got.”

Best one for Will, at any rate, thought Jack, gazing down at her mournfully. But that was the name of her game, it seemed. After all, Will was her husband.

Jack was only...her pirate.


	27. Chapter 27

Elizabeth had wasted no time in beating a hasty retreat from Port Royal. True, she wanted to save the innocents of the town which she had come to resent just as much as she felt protective of it. But it was also made easy by a certain Commodore.

She still resented the accusing yet heartbroken look he’d given her, upon her exit from Jack’s cabin. She could have defended herself to the shocked James, could have made up lies, or excuses. Could have said something along the lines of _its not what it looks like._

But it was _exactly_ what it looked like. She and Jack partook of each other, explored each other, even as they felt they already knew each other. Peas in a pod. Elizabeth found at that incriminating moment she hadn’t the patience or even the conviction to apologize for it.

Shaking his head, James had retreated to a different part of the ship, anxiously awaiting a return to Port Royal, where he could lick his wounds and avoid Elizabeth. Had he really gotten his hopes up all over again?

Five years, attending to her, that little routine of morning fencing and breakfast. It all meant more in his head than in her heart, but he saw now. A few days with Jack was all it really took to undo her. Upon exiting the Pearl, James simply couldn’t restrain a look of hostility at the pirate slipping through his cool façade.

Had Jack been in his usual devil-may-care mood, he would have made the most mischief possible of the moment. It would have been too easy of an opportunity to pass up. Be that as it may, Jack was extremely vexed. He still didn’t think Elizabeth facing fang boy by her onesies was a great idea. In fact, he thought it was _awful_ idea. But short of locking her in the brig, he couldn’t think of any way to stop her.

Norrington walked down the gangplank, leaving Elizabeth and Jack to stare at each other wordlessly. She wanted to kiss him, but knew she couldn’t, feared he would, and even still hoped for a forbidden press of lips. Instead, she asked, “How will you find me once you’ve...”

“I’ve got me ways.” He tapped the compass at his belt, and Elizabeth raised both dark eyebrows.

“It only works when you know what you want, Jack,” she said quietly, daring to hope, unable to quash the impulse to fish a little.

“I think I know, luv.”

Her heart sank and sang for those words, all at the same time.

He chucked her under her chin with the promise of later, even though they both knew it was very possible there wouldn’t be a _later._

Two days afterwards, manning the helm of the Free Swann II, Elizabeth wished she’d kissed him.

She sailed away from Jamaica, to the deeper waters, waves shifting all round her. Francisco’s finned beasts came to flank her ship nearly as soon as the sun set. One nearly spanned the entire length of the boat, its great dorsal fin cutting through the surface of the water. On a vessel so much smaller than the Pearl, perhaps Elizabeth should have felt quite unnerved. However, she did not. In fact she felt rather numb to the fact. She knew Francisco wanted her alive, and suspected the sharks were there to help track her, more than anything.

And she expected him to find her, quite soon. In fact, she was rather surprised he had not already. The galleon he captained could certainly overtake her vessel.

So what are you going to do, once he catches you? She asked herself. He would demand the chest, and she would take him. Give him the key. He would open the chest, and then...she would worry about it later. Who knew what circumstances would present themselves?

Suddenly, the ship lurched, as though run aground at high speed. It happened again, more forceful this time. What had been a cold numbness in the pit of Elizabeth’s stomach soon clenched, and transformed to fear at long last. Looking over the side of her boat, she could see that the big sharks were no longer merely flanking the Free Swann II, but had taken to biting chunks out of her hull. Three great whites went at the task full force, bits of wood not swallowed by gaping tooth-filled maws trailed behind them, floating, pitifully above the waves.

Perhaps she’d miscalculated. Perhaps Francisco had found a way into the chest, and no longer needed her alive. Her boat lagged in the water, and slowly, she became aware of it beginning to sink.

“Bloody hell.”

 

* * *

It was sitting in the bucket of a crow’s nest, now only a few feet from the water, that the hulking hull of a dark galleon blocked the light of the moon. “Perhaps I could offer my lady a line?” called a familiar voice, as a shadowy silhouette appeared at the prow of the galleon. A shark passed by, dangerously close, its black pitiless eye staring up at her unfeelingly, before slipping back below the surface. She was losing her nerve.

“If you could spare the inconvenience,” she called back up, filling her words with the most English disdain she could muster. Although his face was swathed in shadow, Elizabeth felt sure the Spaniard’s lips were curled in a triumphant smile.

 

* * *

Elizabeth felt as though one could tell a lot about a captain by examining his cabin. Barbossa’s heavy velvet, fine silver, and academic paintings smacked of a man who considered himself nobility, a man above normal men, a lord of the ship he commanded and the sea he sailed upon. And indeed, he was a pirate lord, one of the Brethren of Shipwreck cove.

But so was Jack Sparrow.

Jack’s taste in cabin décor ran entirely different, it did not mock the society that shunned him with a display of lavish wealth he’d stolen from it. It echoed of a man full of curiosity for the world he inhabited. A man who had sailed to foreign lands, and did not merely trade goods, but brought pieces of the culture away with him. All the baubles in Jack’s cabin, sandalwood elephants from India, African masks, porcelain blue and white and scrolls of dragons twining round twisting clouds.

Curiosity.

Norrington’s tastes ran to the crisp, clean, precise, and nautical. Framed charts on the white washed walls, every instrument in its proper place upon the desk. Sterile. And what did her own husband’s cabin look like? She could guess, but would never know, she feared.

Don Francisco de Vargas kept living quarters aboard _La Isabella_ unlike any she’d ever seen. Dark silks that shimmered in the moonlight draped the windows, which also boasted heavy shutters to keep out the daytime sun. Dozens and dozens of pots were placed around the room, containing the most exotic flowers, night blooming orchids of white and velvety pinks and violets. As numerous as the flowers, cages containing a striking variety of birds hung from hooks around. Some tittered prettily, some slept, their feathers puffed out around them, and some simply stared back at her quietly, with sad dark little eyes.

No creature who has known the freedom of the skies enjoys life in a cage. Elizabeth sympathized with the little creatures, she knew the feeling.

All of the birds the vampire kept for his pleasure boasted some sort of exceptional coloring or pattern of feather, and his latest catch had been adorned no differently. She’d been divested of her sailing costume, and a dress of dark blue silk that shimmered violet in the moonlight replaced it. Francisco watched her inspect his room with eyes nearly the same color as her garment. The chest rested upon his desk, the key he’d relieved her of beside it. Apparently the vampire was in no great hurry to collect his prize.

Or perhaps he already had.

Finally he broke the silence. “Can a man who loves flowers truly be so bad?” he asked, lips curled in a smile that only revealed the slightest hint of fang.

Elizabeth turned her head towards the vampire, chin held at an almost coquettish angel. But by the sharp look in her eyes, he did not think she was in much of a mood to flirt. Her gaze unnerved him in a way, and that was no small feat. Her searching mahogany eyes were so lovely, yet so...penetrating.

They reminded him very much of a different pair of eyes, of which he had not gazed into for so long. So very long. But all that was about to change.

“You are a collector,” she finally said. “An accumulator of fine things.” He watched her carefully, for the tone of her voice he could tell it was not meant as a compliment. “You surround yourself with beauty, but not for a love of beauty itself. For a love of what you believe it reflects in you. It’s no more than vanity.”

For a moment Francisco’s face darkened, and a twinge of fear tingled at the base of her spine. But whatever hostility Don de Vargas felt at her insult, he concealed it well, behind a noble mask of mild amusement. “You do not mince words, do you, Mrs. Turner? I find you exactly as Sparrow’s memory holds you.” He rose slowly from his chair. “I suppose I’m beginning to understand better how you could remain on a man’s mind, years after your last encounter.”

This struck Elizabeth as odd, and morbidly interesting. Spying on Jack’s thoughts, through an enemy, no less. “You have seen Jack’s thoughts?” she asked, feigning disinterest. Francisco’s lips curled slightly, knowingly. She could not fool him, he could sense the emotions coming off of her. Taste them nearly, though it wasn’t _exactly_ how he knew. A vampire’s senses were a complex and difficult creature to describe.

“Briefly, in the encounter before our last. He escaped, clever man that he is, much to my dismay. So you see, I knew you before meeting you. Meeting a body in person after knowing them through another‘s memory does not always coincide with the person they truly are. But Senor Sparrow sees you for exactly who you are, doesn’t he, Elizabeth Swann?”

Elizabeth bit her lip. The comment crawled beneath her skin, just as the vampire knew it would. “Mrs. Turner,” she snapped curtly.

His cultured smile widened. “Very well, _Mrs. Turner._ No need to be uncivil.”

Civility. To this man. The thought made her want to gag, and sent a small squirm of revulsion through her insides. “I do not appreciate being stalked, or my husband being threatened for some Spanish aristocrat’s petty designs. So for this I only offer you my honesty, Don de Vargas.”

“And had I asked you for the heart in a civil manner, we could have been friends?” he asked mockingly, obviously amused.

“Doubtful,” she replied truthfully, fingering the meaty petal of an orchid.

“That is a shame. Because you remind me so very much of my Isabella, that I should think I would perhaps like to keep you around. Perhaps I will, should things not go my way...”

Elizabeth turned her attention to a portrait hung on the wall, a lavish oil of a voluptuous _senora_. Isabella, no doubt, the woman who all this fuss was about. She was a beautiful woman, or at least _had been_. It was not the rendering of her comely features that made the work though, it was the woman’s eyes. She suspected the artist had captured them perfectly, they stared out piercingly at the viewer, but also with sorrow. How could Francisco hang this and not feel accused? Did he simply not see? He wouldn’t be the first man to be oblivious to such things. It made Elizabeth’s imagination wander, to how she had died. Would she want to be ripped from a resting place to return to this domineering man’s side?

“Would you keep me in a cage, like your birds?” she asked, still captivated by the portrait.

“I wouldn’t need to, to add you to my collection of fine things. I keep people in other ways.”

“Ah, so you’re a typical tyrant.” Elizabeth turned to the vampire full on, hands clasped behind her back. “And what of Isabella? How did she die?” she asked. “I wonder if perhaps she wouldn’t want to come back to you.”

At long last, Francisco allowed his irritation to show through the carefully constructed mask. “Perhaps you should not speak of things you have no knowledge of.”

“I have no knowledge, but merely suspicions based on observation. Years of it. The same sad story repeated by history, over and over again. Because if I remind you of her, then I suspect she too would resent being caged.”

“Says the woman who keeps her husband’s heart locked away in a box. Buried deep in a cave in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. You hid it quite well.”

Elizabeth raised one dark slash of an eyebrow. “Not well enough, apparently.”

“Shall we take a look inside?” Francisco picked up the key so ceremoniously placed, threaded it into the lock, and turned. There was an eerie hiss, and Elizabeth remembered the first time hearing that box opened, a much different heart locked inside.

With a glance at Elizabeth, the vampire clasped the lid with pale tapered fingers, flipping it open. Her heart thundered in her chest, for she knew what he would find. After a moment of staring down at the box, Francisco’s so carefully composed expression contorted with rage.

The box was empty.


	28. Chapter 28

Jack stood in his cabin, a most curious thing having found its way into his possession. The heart of his rival, thump thumped in its box upon his desk. He peered over the lip to glance at the mass of red meat, the most important muscle in the body, still twitching from electrical impulses sent from a brain worlds away.

A talented ship’s surgeon had once told him he suspected the whole body was just a lump of highly sophisticated meat, manipulated by signals sent from the brain. One would suspect that this particular phenomena was a bit more complex than that, but who knows? One is all and all is same, the eastern mystics would say. The longer he lived and observed this strange life, the more openly inclined Jack was to believe them.

Shuddering with a wave of squeamishness, Jack shrunk away from the heart and closed the lid, suddenly unable to look at it now. What the bloody hell was _he_ going to do with it? What could possibly be done with it, that Francisco wouldn’t eventually be able to track it down by prying into some mind or another? He touched his neck where two neat fang marks had once pierced his skin. Agua de Vida or no, he was in no hurry to meet with that vampire again. And yet he suspected he would have to.

The thought didn’t thrill him. And he was running dangerously low on the Agua...after the festivities earlier, thoroughly inundating his crew and cementing his captaincy, at least for a time, he only had a single emergency flask left, hidden somewhere in his cabin. He was a bit drunk upon hiding it...even more so than usual. Finding it again would be an adventure in itself.

A brilliant idea in mind (not that he would admit he had any of a different sort) Jack grabbed the special made box and went to the hold. One thing was for certain when Elizabeth set out to hide something, she did not muck it up. He imagined her heading out in that little boat of hers, the Free Swann I, all by her onesies, with two boxes and one goal in mind.

“No map, love?” he’d asked her, as she explained her case to him, first hiding the lock box without a heart as a ruse, then the second, the real heart, in a simple, non-descript wooden box, on a deserted jungle island with no name, no lines marking it on the map. “Youbloodypirates,”Elizabeth had said, rolling her eyes. “When are you going to learn that if you don’t want someone to find something you’ve hidden, don’t make a bloody map!”

Jack had blinked. Yes, she had a point. But pirates, treasures, maps...they were nearly inseparable. In fact he was almost disappointed that she didn’t seem to understand. Or perhaps she understood all too well.

In any case, the directions she’d given him were perfectly precise. He’d found the heart with little to no trouble. But now, he had to _do_ something with it. Intent on just that, he dug out an old iron chest from deep in the hold. It had been there for god knows how long....it could finally be put to some use. A cannon ball inside with the box, a sturdy lock, and voila! Jack pranced up the stairs, brandishing his _creation_ , if he may be so bold.

“Calypso,” he said at the railing, speaking out to the open ocean. “I have the utmost certainty that Will is serving you with unwavering disgustingly eunuchy loyalty. So now, its your turn to do the same for him.”

With a grunt and a splash, the whole business was said and done with. Jack watched the bubbles rise as the chest sank to the depths of the ocean. He wouldn’t know where it landed, and neither could he fetch it, or tell any meddling vampires where to find it. Easy as that, Francisco lost.

Well, maybe not so black and white as that. Few things ever were. Perhaps the vampire had been thwarted, but neither could Jack claim he’d won quite yet, with Elizabeth undoubtedly in the vampire’s clutches.

He thought of the day she’d left, of them getting dressed after that fateful call of _Port Royal ho!_ Still nude as the day she was born, she approached Jack, reaching around to something in her hair. His mouth went dry as he watched her approach, breathtaking and golden as a goddess in the ephemeral morning light. She drew out that little piece of shiny he’d noticed glinting in her hair before, but had never gotten around to satiating his curiosity. Other parts of her had been on his mind. Upon closer inspection, he’d realized the little piece of metal was a _key._

Reaching up, her bare arms burned his skin as she made to tie it in his own hair, causing him to shudder. “That’s all you need,” she said quietly. He knew she meant just to find and open the second box, the real hiding place of Will’s thump thump, but it was still a bloody lie. Something had clenched in Jack, threatened to break.

His hands slipped around her waist, pulling her against him, and the sudden heated silk of bare skin burned them both. He slanted his mouth over hers, taking their last kiss before they would part ways, for God knew how long.

If things did not go well, maybe even forever. Perhaps Jack played through his escapades as though it were all some grand game, but death always waited around the corner, always a possible outcome.

The kiss was a gift but demanding, a new exploration of charted waters, heaven with the hard bite of bitter reality. It was all the delicious contradictions they somehow embodied within themselves, but that was the truth of life. It was that truth, that vicious beauty, they reveled in.

He flipped open his compass, curious where his truest interest lay. He had many of them, after all he was a well-rounded man. There were maps and adventure and treasure and rum, the sea and sailing and taking hold of his own destiny, salty wenches and his latest and greatest, Agua de Vida.

He could have _used_ some more Agua de Vida.

However, upon opening it, the needle pointed resolutely, unwaveringly, towards a point much farther south than Cuba.

Blasted girl.


	29. Chapter 29

Elizabeth woke with a splitting headache, painfully aware of every aching bone in her body. She lay on a settee, feet hanging off the end, still clad in her blue silk dress. The neck of it was torn, a bit stained with blood. She reached up to touch her sore neck, and grimaced at the feel of lacerated skin. Her evening came back to her in a flash.

Upon seeing the empty box, Don de Vargas had immediately turned livid. Before she could even think of retreating he was upon her, delicate wrist clasped in a viselike grip. “Where is it?” he hissed. “You have defied me for the last time, woman. Where is the heart?”

She felt the strength in his hands, capable of crushing bone, as he tightened his hold upon her.

“You’ll never find it!” she spat.

Francisco bent her arm behind her back, twisting the joint until tears welled in her eyes. His other hand twisted in her hair, wrenching her neck at a seemingly impossible angle.

His eyes burned blue, consuming her, pulling her beneath the cold dark waters of a raging storm. “If you will not give it willingly, I will simply take,” he growled. She recalled his snake like strike, those fangs sinking into her neck, and then all went black.

Dizziness, nausea, coursed through her, and the room spun. She felt so tired, all she really wanted to do was curl back up on the settee. But something not quite fitting in the Don’s Cabin caught her attention. Hector Barbossa sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, watching her intently. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Turner.”

“Is it so late?” she asked groggily.

“Oh yes, you’ve been sleeping for quite some time now. I expect you lost a lot of blood.” She touched fingers to her bite again, and winced.

“Yes, I would expect I have.”

“You keep surprising us all, you know. I think now that had you really thought I could lead you to Will’s heart, you would have killed me on the island.”

“Perhaps, or at least have kept you within sight and reach. I _sort_ of like you, at this point.”

He smiled, a baring of decaying teeth. “Aye, I _sort_ of like you too. Would you like some fresh air?”

“Yes.”

She went with Barbossa out the cabin door, and could barely keep her feet. The bright sunlight burned her eyes, for a moment her immediate impulse was to retreat back into the darkness of the cabin, and slam the door. But she did not, instead strode out, and leaned on the railing for support. The salty breeze whipping past her skin, through her hair, was a welcome relief.

However, the sight before her was not. The ship obviously could not be crewed during the day, so it seemed Francisco had acquired assistance for the task. Slaves, both African and natives of the Americas, shuffled about the ship, almost as though in a trance. There was no slave driver present, no master at arms. It seemed Francisco controlled them through his will and will alone. “How can they be set free?” Elizabeth whispered, horrified.

“I don’t’ know,” answered Barbossa truthfully. “Probably only by killing Francisco himself. He doesn’t seem to willingly release the things he’s caged.” A sick feeling lunged in her stomach. She was destined to be like one of them?

She would kill herself first.

She really, truly would.

“So what did you trade for passage off the island?”

“Oh, nothing but the heart. But I fear I may be getting into far more than what I bargained for.” For a moment, Elizabeth recognized fear in Barbossa’s eyes.

“Are you afraid he will make you one of his puppets too?”

Lips curled in a sneer, he shot a glance in her direction. “Aren’t you?” Oh yes. Elizabeth’s worries often circled around some person or another trying to strip her of her freedom. That moment was no different.

“There is another item against our friend Francisco,” said Barbossa distantly, a note of regret in his voice.

“Yes?” She felt a certain sense of dread at hearing what else the horrible vampire had done.

“Hoping he would be of some use, Don de Vargas picked up our good man Joshamee Gibbs in Tortuga. He’s no longer aboard.”

Elizabeth’s face fell, her lower lip trembled. She covered her mouth with her hand, suspecting it hid nothing. Gibbs, dear man. No, not Gibbs. She turned her face away, so Barbossa would not see the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She changed the subject, tone cold in some effort to keep a stiff upper lip. “So I assume you are somehow hoping to gain the Pearl out of the end of this mess.”

“Oh, that would be ideal,” Barbossa admitted unashamedly.

“Jack found his trunk in the hold with all his things. I’m not sure he will spare your heavy velvets the same courtesy.”

Barbossa shrugged. “If I have the Pearl, then it matters not. But I expect we’ll be seeing her soon. _La Isabella_ can’t out run her, if she’s a mind to find us.”

“And why would he? It would be best in Jack Sparrow’s interest to keep as many leagues as possible between the Pearl and this ship.”

“Ay, it would, if Jack were a sane man. But we both know he’s daft, and that there’s _somethin’_ aboard he may be wantin’, so perhaps we best be thinkin’ about what we plan to do, when he catches up.”

Elizabeth watched Barbossa walk away, picking his way through mind washed natives to cross the deck of the ship. What did she plan to do? What _could_ she do?

 _Would_ Jack come? She thought of their goodbye upon the Pearl. _I think I know, luv._

Not even that had been certain. Maybe Jack thought he loved her _then_ , when she was fresh in his mind, right under his nose, at his fingertips. But once away from her she feared he would be drawn to his other interests. The Sea. The Pearl. Agua de Vida. Adventure. Treasure…she found she didn’t dare hope that she could rank higher than any of them. To hope and to be proven wrong would be devastating.

She had been his lover, but she did not dare hope she was his beloved. Cold truth, but she’d known her share the past few years. And as a fellow pirate, she’d simply fallen behind. So with her fate left in her hands and her hands alone, what would she do with it?

She would think of something.

She always did.


	30. Chapter 30

As darkness fell, an eerie feeling settled over the ship. The natives dropped their tasks and shuffled down to the hold, quickly replaced by the vampire crew. Elizabeth mused that although they seemed to have the upper hand, really they were no better than slaves themselves to their capitán. The democracy of a pirate ship did not reign here. It was Francisco’s will and his will alone that prevailed.

One such vampire found Elizabeth at the prow of the ship, gazing out at the infinite black waters. The sea mesmerized her. Once she started gazing she could hardly tear herself away. She would sit for hours at a time on the beach, watching the waves. The thought would enter her mind to go do something useful, mend a shirt, repair a window. Those things didn’t fix themselves anymore. Not that they ever did, but to a youth they certainly seemed to, in a mansion full of servants. But it was curiosity that kept her. She wanted to see what the next wave would look like. Always, they came ashore, but not a single one would break in the same way.

“El Capitán wants to see you,” said the vampire behind her.

“I don’t want to see him,” she replied tartly.

The vampire gave an indignant snort. “Best you go, than make him find you. Trust me.”

With a sneer Elizabeth left her post and went to Francisco’s cabin. A feast had been laid out, just for her.

“Please, _pequena_ , you must be famished.” He sat in one of the lavish armchairs, manners and patience refreshed a new with a good day’s sleep. Watching him cautiously, she sat down at the table. Yes, she was starving, and she had lost a lot of blood. She’d felt lightheaded all day, almost as though she’d floated through the last six hours on a cloud. She dug in to a roast chicken with much zeal.

The vampire watched her eat with interest, pleased to see she had not yet given up. That was good: they had a long journey ahead of them. “You are a clever woman,” he mused, almost as though he were talking to himself. “I was so furious, to find in the depths of your mind, that you had charged Jack Sparrow with holding the heart again. I could chase after him and hope to finally find this heart of yours...but I have a better plan.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” She masked her fear with sarcasm, but knew he could sense both.

“I seek a favor from the new captain of the Flying Dutchman, and I sought to ensure my success with the persuasion of the heart. But it occurs to me, why trouble myself any longer, when I already have his beloved wife in my possession?”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the proposition. “What makes you so confident? Not all men care for their wives so much.”

“Come now, Mrs. Turner, remember that I know him through you. Through your memories of him. A brave man, a loyal man, who has always loved you....he will do much still to see you safe, I think.”

“Can you be so sure? You yourself said people have a tendency to...skew the truth of who their loved ones truly are in their minds.”

Francisco chuckled to himself. “I do not think this is a case of it.”

Elizabeth weighed the new development in her head. Barbossa was aboard, he could certainly lead them to World’s End. Perhaps it would even be to their advantage, to sail in a world where her husband ruled the waters that Francisco seemed to know little about.

What did the vampire know? Hear say, at best, it seemed. The whole scheme smacked of a desperate man, and desperate men often do rash things. It seemed to be something of an advantage, for she and Barbossa.

Despite their differences, there was little doubt in her mind that she and Hector were fighting for the same cause once again. An unexpected sense of confidence settled over her. If Francisco intended to trade her, he at least had to keep her alive. Of course, his definition of alive could deviate greatly from anything desirable to her...

Elizabeth’s spirits fell again. And even if this insanity called a plan should work, and he released her, what was to keep him from returning for her on any given night, Isabella or no? He was a collector, after all...she suspected he did not easily relinquish the beautiful things he had acquired.

She realized she would never truly be safe, truly free of him, until at long last the wicked being ceased to live.

Yes, she would much prefer a rescue. Or an execution. Both. Wouldn’t it be nice if Jack Sparrow were on his way at that very moment? She still didn’t dare depend on it.

Francisco watched and felt all these emotions roll over and off of Elizabeth, seemingly with much amusement. But her obvious calculation also put him en garde; he did not want to underestimate this woman again. It would be best to put her under his power as much as possible. As long as she was alive and breathing, it’s not as though her husband would be able to tell the difference.

She stood from her meal, and he with her. Elizabeth eyed the vampire warily. “Your dress is torn. We should find you a new one.” He reached up to finger the scrap of silk hanging loose from her bodice, and she swatted his hand away indignantly.

“Don’t touch--” Suddenly she found herself in his crushing grip, one hand tangled in her hair, holding her head at a painful angle; the other arm pinning her to him around her waist.

“I can behave as a gentleman, but only if cordial behavior is reciprocated. Do you understand?” he snarled.

“You’re no gentleman, and you never were, I’ll wager. You’re just another brute who hides behind the title.”

She met his eyes defiantly, risking their hypnotizing pull.

“Sao Feng once mistook you for a goddess,” he breathed over her lips. “I saw it in your memory. And I’m beginning to understand why. You are absolutely unwilling to submit your soul to anyone. But I _will_ break you, if need be. Make no mistake of it.”

Elizabeth thought back on all the foes she’d faced. Barbossa as an immortal skeleton had been particularly unpleasant. Cutler Beckett was no picnic. And Davy Jones the, heartless fiend... “Many have tried,” she hissed. “And they’re all dead now. One might be wise to make note of it.”

Francisco snickered. “But did you kill them yourself? Because the most vivid murder _I_ saw in your mind was of your lover Jack Sparrow.”

Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide at the mention of her lover, and it apparently brought Francisco great pleasure to watch her squirm. “Oh yes, I know about that too. Best we keep it to ourselves, eh? Lest your husband decides not to care so much about your life after all. That could be disastrous for both of us.”

With a glare that would fell lesser men, Elizabeth spat, “You’re quite right, I did not kill those who tried to break me. But Jack did. Every one of them. Perhaps you have cause for alarm after all.”

“Perhaps, but you yourself have doubts of Jack. He is a self-serving man at best, you can count on no rescue.”

“Jack is an unpredictable man. We count on nothing, but he always amazes us.”

“At least, he amazes you.”

Francisco eyed her lips, a barely concealed gesture of desire. “As much as Senor Turner may resent it, I doubt anyone could blame you for your infidelity. Such a waste, for a woman as yourself to sit at home, wasting away...”

“Indeed,” quipped Elizabeth, leaning away as far as he would allow to avoid the vampire’s lips. She’d had quite enough of them on her skin. “Perhaps your Isabella felt the same, if we’re so similar, as you assert. A fiery woman left alone in the huge villa you no doubt left her to tend, while her great Francisco de Vargas went off to conquer foreign lands, tame the native heathens, and bring back all the gold. Who knows how many men she found comfort in the arms of?”

Her smirk turned to a grimace of pain as his fingers dug into her skin.

“You insolent--”

“Sail ho!” came a cry from outside. “Capitán!”

With a warning glare, Francisco stalked out the door, leaving Elizabeth bruised and alone. She did not stay to lick her wounds though, she soon followed the Capitán out the door. A glance revealed Francisco at the railing, looking through the spy glass behind them. The wind had begun to pick up, and the stars were no longer visible for the swathe of clouds they’d sailed in to. “ _Es la Perla Negra_!” cried one of the vampires.

“Jack,” she whispered to herself, not daring to say it any louder. The sound of distant cannon sounded, the Pearl gauging distance to target. Francisco snarled, knowing if Jack had them in its sights, it would certainly catch them before daybreak.

Elizabeth’s Spanish was not fluent by any means, but she caught the gist of his barked order. “Extinguish all the lights! We’ll lose them in the dark!”

She watched as they obeyed, and the whole ship went dark. With moon blocked by cloud cover, they were fairly invisible. Jack could sail right past them, or into an ambush, and not even know it.

Knowing what she had to do, Elizabeth snatched up an oil lantern, and hurled it against the main sail. The flames quickly spread across the splattered oil, and then over the canvas itself. Up and up they raced, seeming to roar with hunger and triumph. A giant torch now illuminated _La Isabella_ , a crackling orange light flickering over the vampires staring in horror and fear.

“ _Puta_!” The slap came out of nowhere, open handed, but still it sent Elizabeth reeling across the deck. She rolled and came to a stop against some barrels. The vampire did not leave her for long, and soon wrenched her to her feet, dragging her down to the hold. Her head spun, and she felt as though she would throw up at any moment.

He dropped her in a heap on the floor of the dingy hold, and clamped a manacle upon her wrist. “These are strong enough to hold my own vampires, _Mrs. Turner_. You won’t be able to get out of this one.”

“I’ll wait patiently here, while the Pearl’s cannon tear you to shreds.”

“Well then, you’ll be going down with her.”

“See you in the water. I have a certain advantage with the ferryman on the other side...”

He would have stayed to banter more, but a loud crash shook the ship from above. The mast falling? Cannon fire finding its target? Time would tell. She strained against her wrist cuff, testing the possibility of slipping her thin hand through it, but to no avail. She looked around the hold, desiring something to orchestrate her escape. She started when in her search her eyes met dozens of captives, the slave sailors press ganged from their villages to sail this ship of the damned.

“ _Que_ _pasa_?” asked one, much surprising her. He was covered in facial and body tattoos, marking him as different from the rest. A leader? A shaman?

Elizabeth’s Spanish was haltingly simple, but conveyed the point. “ _Mucho_ _lucha_ ,” she answered, pointing up. There were murmurs to her response in a different language, with curious clicking noises and swallowed tones she couldn’t have emulated for the life of her.

She asked the question that seemed most relevant to their survival. “ _Dónde están las llaves_?”

“ _En el bolsillo del capitán_.”

Francisco held all the keys. She wasn’t surprised. So how _were_ they going to get free? If the Pearl prevailed and _La Isabella_ sank, they would all go down with it and Jack wouldn’t have a clue what he’d done.

 


	31. Chapter 31

Jack Sparrow cursed as all the lamps extinguished on board the galleon, and she slipped into invisibility under cloud cover. Bloody hell. The wind was picking up, there would be a storm soon. And in this kind of darkness they could practically sail right into them.

An unexpected bout of luck brightened Jack’s view. Suddenly, the main sail of _La Isabella_ caught fire, and nearly instantaneously it traveled all the way up to the crow’s nest, a bright orange blaze that illuminated the entire silhouette of the ship.

“Atta girl, Lizzy,” he thought to himself, because he knew with her penchant for taking advantage of the incendiary properties of objects pirates held dear, it could be none other than her handiwork.

“Full canvas!” he barked. “I want to catch this Spanish mongrel within the hour!” Where don Francisco’s galleon was a large and bulky ship, the Pearl was a smaller brigantine with a shallower draft. He had outfitted her years ago to coax further speed from her sails, tearing out the extra weight of the useless officer’s cabins below, and moving the main mast further towards the back of the ship. Some of this was offset by the extra gun ports cut in the side of the ship. Usually the Pearl did not prey on such large beasts of the sea, and Jack hoped there would be enough firepower to take the galleon.

And then, another event passed through the lens of his telescope that Jack found to be _most_ interesting. A flash of green light illuminated the sea, in such a way that would make a pirate think it was a queer sort of lightning. But he’d seen that phenomena before, and watched as the night suddenly took a turn for the advantageous. Almost as though the sea had opened up and given birth, a ship surfaced from the depths beside _La_ _Isabella_.

The ship was the Flying Dutchman.


	32. Chapter 32

Don de Vargas watched gravely as what could be none other than the Flying Dutchman surfaced from the depths of the ocean, or perhaps a whole other world. He couldn’t be sure, this business of the ferryman was still foggy, at best. Things were taking an unexpected turn once again. As though it weren’t enough to lose the main sail to that bitch’s meddling, he did not expect to come face to face with her husband so soon.

His crew had started an assembly chain, scooping buckets of water from the sea to at least keep the fire from spreading to the rest of the ship. Lightning crackled, and he knew the deluge that would soon fall from the sky would help matters a bit.

With not even an order but a thought, his men moved down below to prime the cannons, should things not go the way he hoped.

A man who was no doubt the Captain of the Flying Dutchman, William Turner, strode to the side of his ship. “Francisco de Vargas!” he called angrily, hand upon the hilt of his sword.

De Vargas returned the hostile greeting, he himself striding to face Turner. “Captain William Turner, I presume.” Turning to his mate, he snarled quietly, “Fetch the bitch, bring her here.”

“I’ve been told you are in possession of someone very dear to me.” His scowl illuminated by firelight was particularly menacing.

Rodrigo returned from below, dragging a worse for wear Elizabeth by the arm. “Will!” she exclaimed with astonishment, amazed to see none other than the Dutchman itself alongside La Isabella.

“That I am,” confirmed Francisco smugly. “Perhaps you would care to come aboard and discuss the terms of her release?”

Will eyed the burning main mast with a critical eye. “Your vessel doesn’t quite seem seaworthy. Perhaps you would care to come to this side? And bring her with you.”

“I’m afraid I cannot,” answered Francisco. It was not a lie, for the vampire truly could not cross the water between the two ships under his own power.

“Very well then, we’ll discuss them here. Release my wife, and your ship will be spared. Otherwise, I’m afraid nothing will prevent me from finishing the job she no doubt has already begun,” he said, gesturing at the flaming mast.

Elizabeth studied her husband, a man she had not seen in five years. He carried himself like a sea-captain now, several years of strange waters under his sash. There was something new about him now, something distant and cold. Was it the Dutchman taking hold of him? Or was it simply being a man without a heart?

“I have a different proposition. You--”

Francisco was distracted, for all attention everywhere was focused behind him. He turned to see a ship black as pitch glide up to flank _La Isabella_ ’s other side. “Game’s up, fang boy,” called a familiar and oh so irritating voice to Francisco’s ears. “Hand her over nicely, and we won’t blow this ugly piece of floating flotsam to flinders. Ain’t that right, Will?”

Will was surprised, and yet somehow _not_ surprised, to see Jack entering the fray. The man had an uncanny ability to show up at the most unexpected times and places. “Spot on,” agreed Will coolly.

Wrenching Elizabeth from Rodrigo’s grasp, Francisco held her like a shield before him, twisting one arm behind her, the other hand gone to holding her neck. He laughed maliciously, but it smacked of a dog growling trapped in a corner. “As I was saying, before we were so rudely interrupted, is that I have a different proposition for you,” he continued calmly, attempting to hide his discomfort in the unexpected situation. I understand you have the power to bring those lost at sea back to the shore, of the living. Return my wife to me, and I will return yours.”

A figure familiar to Elizabeth walked up to stand next to her husband. Gibbs. He must have been the one to alert Will to the goings on of mortals on the other side.

All went silent, all eyes turned to the Captain of the Dutchman. Jack found himself repeating a mantra of old to Will in his head. _Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid._

Will’s brow furrowed. “I can’t.” he finally answered, voice bland as toast but cool as ice.

“Can’t, or _won’t_?” asked Francisco through grinding teeth. His voice had gone low, his fingers digging a bit deeper into Elizabeth’s flesh, either intentionally or out of fear. Things were _not_ going as he‘d hoped they would. She squirmed against his grasp, to no avail.

Will shook his black bandanaed head. “It’s impossible.”

Francisco could taste the truth of Will’s words. The man did not lie. Then all this had been for nothing? All his hopes of reunion smashed on the rocks with just two words. _It’s impossible._ Sadness welled up inside him, but was quickly overshadowed by its uglier counterparts: hatred, and rage.

Any esteem Jack felt for the whelp quickly evaporated. Telling the vicious vampire honestly that he can’t have what he wants, while said vampire is holding the throat of the woman they wanted to save? Stupid, _stupid_ Will.

A flash of lightning split the sky, and the rain finally began to fall. Will read the hatred written across the vampire’s face, and realized he _may_ have done a foolish thing.

Before another word could be said, an earsplitting crack caused everyone to jump, and the main mast began to topple over. It fell with a thud, making a burned bridge between the Dutchman and _La Isabella_. The unexpected chaos jarred a gunman down below in the Isabella, and the crash of the mast was soon followed by the boom of a cannon. There had been no order given, but the violence soon escalated out of control.

The Dutchmanreturned fire. Not to be left out of the fray, the Pearl fired from the other side. The rain poured from the sky, a near drowning deluge that extinguished what was left of the flames on the main mast.

Provided with a convenient bridge, the crew of the Dutchman boarded the Isabella. Francisco shoved Elizabeth to Rodrigo again, snarling an order to stow her away below, before he himself entered the fray.

Elizabeth felt weak, and yet the will to survive took hold. Rodrigo underestimated her, and she managed to wrench free and disappear into the chaos of the battle. Fearing Francisco’s wrath, Rodrigo would have pursued the troublesome woman, had he himself not been distracted by a pirate engaging his full attention.

Don de Vargas soon found himself crossing blades with the irate husband and lover both. In spite of Francisco’s superhuman speed, Will was an avid swordsman, and Jack was craftier than the devil himself; a combination of the two kept him well on his toes. “I remember your wife,” said Will, slashing for the vampire’s eyes, and only just barely missing. “Isabella de Vargas.”

“Why can’t you bring her back?” Francisco snarled, deflecting a slash from Jack and stab from Will both. “Why is she impossible, but others are?”

“She died a long time ago. I’ve already taken her across. She’s returned to the Great Ether. The nothing. The everything. Ready to start anew. I’m sorry, but you’ll never see her again.”

Jack listened quietly to Will’s explanation, and felt a certain vindication of suspicions he’d always held about true death. There was a cycle of death and rebirth, constant change and renewal. This was true in all things, the smallest most mundane systems to the largest chains of cycle. Humans were just too stupid, too blind, too absorbed in their own drama to recognize it.

“I don’t believe you!”

“She wouldn’t have wanted to come back anyway,” Will jabbed, both physically and verbally. “She already escaped you once.”

Francisco paused with surprise, and was nearly stabbed by Jack. He parried wildly, hissing, “What are you about?”

“I remember her, you cretin, she had the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. She committed suicide to escape you. Jumped ship in a storm.”

Rage boiled in the pit of Francisco‘s stomach. “Liar! Her ship sank on the crossing!”

“True, and I met them too. But Isabella most certainly died first, I’m afraid.”

“It’s all for naught, mate. Hand over the girl, and we’ll call this whole business off. What say you?” asked Jack, not really expecting it to be so easy.

A cold numb settled over Francisco. He’d been filled with such vigor, such hope that he would see his Isabella again, be with her, smell her hair and kiss those sweet lips...and in a few moments all that was taken away. He felt utterly empty inside, cold and cruelly alone. At that moment he decided that if he would never hold his Isabella again, Turner and Sparrow would most certainly lose their Elizabeth.

“But which do I hand her over to?” snarled the vampire, struggling to hold off his attackers. “Her husband, or her lover?”

Will froze at hearing the insinuation, startled into looking over at Jack. “What?”

Jack too blanched, fearing he would soon be on the pointy end of a blade expertly wielded by a _very_ irate husband.

 


	33. Chapter 33

Somehow avoiding the vampires, Elizabeth managed to slip back down into the hold again. The ship was listing to port, the cannon fire crippling La Infanta perhaps beyond repair. She worried for those she cared about up above, but other lives also held her attention, down below. The slaves who sailed the ship by day, held in reserve in their large holding pen by night. She thought of Jack and the mutiny he’d committed to free the slaves aboard the EITC ship, years ago. She knew he would understand her detour.

The slaves watched her fearfully, and some cried out as she raised the primed pistol she’d filched from a fallen comrade top deck. But the chief understood, and motioned for his people to move away from the lock. Keys were never convenient, but the pistol was a tried and true tool. All the captives were soon fleeing the cell, and only the chief stopped to thank her, briefly, before also running up. Water had begun to fill the hold, and came up to Elizabeth’s ankles. She decided to speed up the process a bit, and rolled a barrel of powder over to the wall. She readied a long fuse, and lit it with a lantern on the wall.

Satisfied with her goal of destruction, she made to beat a hasty retreat up the stairs. However, halfway to the companionway she stopped dead in her tracks. “And just where do you think you are going?” asked Francisco, blocking the way.

“Oh...nowhere,” she grumbled, heart dropping down to her stomach with disappointment and fear.

Francisco took a step down, limping, and gazed unhappily at the water up to his ankles. “It seems we are going somewhere, though _down_ is not a desired direction at sea.”

He took another step forward, and she retreated farther into the hold. “So I hear your Isabella didn’t love you so very much after all. She felt like a collectable on a shelf too, I imagine.”

Francisco frowned. “I shall never be able to ask her, it seems. It is devastating to believe someone loves you, only to find they feel something _entirely_ different.”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at the stab, still backing up as Francisco advanced. “True, and yet can she be blamed, if her husband is not giving her what she needs?”

“That is the excuse you women always use. I gave her everything she could have possibly wanted.”

“Except for her husband at home. Did you enjoy spilling my secret?” She was certain he had not missed the opportunity to create a rift, now that all was lost.

Elizabeth backed into a pillar, and the vampire pressed into her. “Oh yes, that was quite fun. By the look on William’s face, I would say he will never forgive you. That is, if I thought he would ever see you again. He and Jack are fighting out their differences as we speak.”

A sort of panic did a somersault in her stomach, mixed with her fear. But what was done was done. He turned up her chin, exposing a line of long neck that her maiden name described so perfectly. “You think to kill me?” Elizabeth felt weak, dizzy, but she did not intend to give it all up quite yet.

“It’s a pity, no? And I’ve grown so fond of sinking fangs into this beautiful neck of yours.” Elizabeth hissed with pain as he did just that, but she did not struggle. The blood flowed, and he drained her quickly, knowing he did not have time to enjoy the bouquet. And yet her blood was so thick and heady, he could not help but lose himself in the rich taste. It was only a clamping feeling on his wrist that drew him back from the bliss of the blood.

Fangs bared, he pulled back to see what she’d done now. This time, her mischief had attained new heights, manifested in a manacle around his wrist. It was the one he used as punishment for his vampire crew, and her as well, not hours ago. It was one he knew he could not break free from, but he himself had a way out of it. Reaching to his pocket, he found the familiar lump that was his set of keys to be absent.

Almost playfully, she jangled them before him, before a fateful flick of wrist sent them careening into the darkness of the hold, hidden behind crates and barrels of only God knew what. The vampire watched in horror as the keys to his salvation flew away, making a splash as they were swallowed by shadow and clutter. He had no plans of going down with his ship. He was only going to exact his revenge, then escape in the longboat...but not now.

That one small gesture of tossing the keys exhausted Elizabeth. She’d lost so much blood in the past few days, and never before had she experienced such a feeling of lightheaded detachment from the world. She felt as though she were floating above it all, watching a play. Nothing quite seemed real, and perhaps it never was.

Francisco’s eyes burned blue, and he caught her unfocused gaze, ordering her to go fetch the keys. Absentmindedly she obeyed, sloshing through the deepening water in the direction she’d chucked them. But halfway there she stopped, slumping down to sit in the water, leaning her back against a barrel.

The order to fetch the keys roared in her mind, but she simply did not have the energy. She felt herself fading, as though she were drifting away from her body, floating somewhere above it. Was it death? It didn’t feel like anything, really, but maybe it wasn’t supposed to.

A shaking of her shoulders, minutes or hours after she’d closed her eyes, caused her to open them sleepily. A pair of intense dark orbs bore into hers, fraught with worry. “Come on, luv, wakeup,” he urged, failing at concealing the fear in his voice.

“Jack....” she breathed, “You shouldn’t be down here. The fuse...”

He looked around and noticed a fuse attached to a powder keg running dangerously close to ground zero.

“Come on, darlin’. You’re not getting out of this that easily.”

She felt herself being lifted into those strong wiry arms, but could no longer keep her eyes open, or really keep much of an interest in the world in general. None of it really mattered, she realized in a moment of clarity.

And everything was the same.


	34. Chapter 34

“Abandon ship!” barked Jack, grabbing a line to swing over to the Pearl, one arm holding Elizabeth securely to him. There was no time to lose, he knew she was fading. “Cut the lines!”

The crew made haste with hacking at the lines and the Pearl began to drift away from _La Isabella_ , sliding out of reach over the water as the first explosion shook the air. The fire spread to the other barrels, and the galleon was soon busted to shreds, and with a groan of protest, was sucked down into the inky water.

They’d won. Francisco went down with his ship. She’d done it again, that trick of the manacle. Only this time is wasn’t the lure of lips that lured the man to his death, but blood. Imagine Jack’s surprise walking down to the hold in search of Elizabeth, to find Don de Vargas had somehow fallen for nearly the exact same trick he had, that fateful day with the kraken.

The vampire had strained against the manacle, but apparently could not break free. Noticing Jack’s arrival, he’d rushed the pirate, but was stopped short by the chain like a tethered attack dog. “You’re too late,” he spat at Jack. “Too late to save her.”

It was then that Jack had noticed Elizabeth crumpled in a ball in the corner, and the fear, an all-consuming dread, welled up in his breast that the vampire was right.

Jack had faced monsters of all kinds, and every danger imaginable on the seven seas. Yet he didn’t think he’d ever been so afraid as he was in that moment, that Lizzy would die from her wounds.

Single-mindedly Jack set about proving de Vargas wrong. He set Lizzy down on his berth, and immediately set to tearing apart his cabin, in search of the illusive, last remaining flask of Agua de Vida.

It seemed Will too had ended up on the Pearl in the scramble to evacuate _La Isabella_ , and he entered the cabin quietly. He stood at his wife’s bedside, convinced he was watching her die. He’d become quite familiar with death these past years, and its unmistakable flavor hung heavy in the air.

“Is it true, what Francisco said?” Will asked quietly, fingers caressing her hair gently. Contrary to Francisco’s claim, he hadn’t turned on Jack in the midst of the battle at hearing the accusation. Their pause had given the vampire a window to escape though, no doubt hunting down Elizabeth to exact his revenge, while Will and Jack were drawn into the battle again by different fanged opponents.

There was a crash, a curse, god knows what being thrown about the cabin, spilled on the floor, doors hanging open and drawers ajar in the wake of Jack Sparrow’s desperate search. “Yes, but save the pointy end of your sword for me till after I’ve saved her, eh?” he said hastily.

_Where the bloody hell was it?!_

Will felt dejected, but not as angry as one might expect. A man without a heart, he felt numb to many things that once would have upset him greatly. And for a flesh and blood woman left alone at shore, ten years was a _long_ time. In a way he’d expected it, steeled himself for it. And somehow he’d known that if it would be anyone, it _would_ be Jack, wouldn’t it? Those two shared a common ground he could never understand, never penetrate, never hope to be a part of.

Lost in his musings, Will was startled as he was shoved out of the way by Jack.

Propping up her limp form with one arm, Jack uncorked a small bottle with his teeth. “Come on, Lizzy luv,” he coaxed, “It’s not time for you to quit this world yet.” He poured some of the liquid between her lips. “Please, Lizzy. I need ye t’ live.”

Although he whispered, there was an unexpected urgency about him. Jack was a jokester, a trickster, even vicious at times, but Will could not recall once ever seeing a tender side. But here it was. Here it was with Will’s own wife, lying in his arms. “Wake up, wake up, wake up,” he chanted, pouring more water between her lips.

Will turned away. He didn’t want to watch, really. He felt so very detached. What did it really matter? Working with the dead had this effect upon him. It wasn’t nihilism, per se, but simply emptiness.

An unexpected cough turned Will’s attention back to the scene on Jack’s berth. “Jack?” Jack’s expression turned from grave to overjoyed in less than a second flat. “You came back for me,” she sighed, not having the strength for anything louder. “You keep coming back for me.”

Jack crushed her to him, relief coursing through his every fiber. “I haven’t the faintest idea why,” he grumbled, nose buried in her hair. _Always_ , he thought, but didn’t dare say it aloud with Will so near. _I will always come back for you._

Only after a few long seconds of holding Elizabeth did Jack remember he was holding the wife of another man, who of which was standing in this very room, watching them. “It seems you’ve cheated death once again, Jack,” said Will blandly.

The anger, the hurt, the moral indignation, seething jealousy Jack had predicted did not seem to be present in the whelp. All in all there was a certain surprising neutrality about him, that Jack never could have expected. Was that the price of the captaincy of the Dutchman? Complete and total apathy to the drama of the living?

“Er--aye.” A remark had come to mind, about he and Elizabeth both having a talent for cheating, but decided the eunuch wouldn’t appreciate the humor in it. He did seem to at least still possess that infuriating attribute.

“Hello, Will.” Elizabeth’s head still rested upon Jack’s shoulder as she addressed her husband. She had not the energy to move it. Will came to sit at her other side, and she found herself between the two men she cared for most. It wasn’t so bad, really.

But Jack felt undeniably awkward. “I’ll leave you two to....whatever whelpy eunuchy things you do.” With a gesture he couldn’t resist, a light kiss on Elizabeth’s forehead, he fled his cabin. Elizabeth watched him go, amused, but also sad. Now that the adventure was over would both her men be sailing off into the sunset again, leaving her behind?

“How did you...” So many questions filled her head for Will, yet she could not place a finger on a one of them. He pulled her back to relax in his arms. It was a comfort she’d been so long denied.

“Come back?” he finished for her. “Gibbs told me of the antics you mortals were up to. My wife was in danger, so I...I simply came. I don’t know what price I will pay for it to Calypso.”

“Is she a difficult mistress?”

Will fondled a lock of hair, admiring the gold color in the candlelight, whose brilliance had faded in his memory. He lived in darkness now, a world of brilliant stars, but most colors faded to gray. “No. She is...she simply is. She takes care of us.” There was something in Will’s voice, it made Elizabeth wonder. “So...you and Jack?”

She sat quietly, unable to answer for some time. In the end she found she couldn’t lie to him. “Yes.” she finally affirmed. “Do you hate me now?”

“No.” His voice was so neutral, so dispassionate. Is this what happens, when a man no longer has a heart? “Ten years is a long time to be alone, isn’t it?”

Hesitatingly, she answered, “Yes.”

“I’m not really angry. It’s strange, you know. I think I understand. Maybe even expected it.”

“You expected me to be unfaithful to you?” Elizabeth couldn’t quell the hint of indignation in her question.

Will, at least, mustered some amusement for that small irony. “I expected it to be Jack,” he said with a hint of a smile.

Somehow, for there was hardly any blood left in her body, Elizabeth managed to blush. “Will, we only just--I was alone, for five years, before…”

Will reached up to stroke the side of her face. Once, the sight of her, her fine beauty, drove him utterly crazy inside. As a young man he’d broken out into sweats, stuttered his greetings. Eventually he managed to rein himself in, to say a few words to her without tripping over his tongue completely, even if his insides still twisted up in knots. Now…he felt none of that excitement, that passion. He felt affection for Elizabeth, but it felt more like a distant memory. Everything here seemed just a distant memory.

“I don’t want you to be alone,” Will finally said, looking deep into her eyes. There was a shadow of a thrill in his heart, but it surfaced and disappeared in the depths of the emptiness that had once been his heart. “When I left I feared you would go to Jack, but now…I’m glad it’s him. Better him, than anyone else. He’s always loved you.”

Elizabeth’s expression of surprise was almost comical. He could have pushed her over with a feather.

“Will…” She reached out to him, wanted to draw him to her, to tell him all the things she hadn’t been able to in the past five years.

But the Captain of the Dutchman suddenly straightened, slipping from her grasp. “Calypso,” he whispered. “She’s here.”

A moment later, the cabin door opened, and in walked the goddess. She had taken the form Elizabeth was most familiar with, her tattooed face, and ink stained smile. And in her hands, she held a chest, a heavy metal one, dripping wet as though it had just been plucked from the sea. Jack watched from the doorway, curious what the sea goddess intended to do in his cabin.

Will rose from his seat beside his wife, and went down on one knee before Calypso, his mistress, head bowed low. “Will Turnah. You left you duty,” she said, voice rich and strange, yet neutral.

“Yes. I had to.”

Calypso gave him a considering look, almost curious. “Yes, I believe dat is tru.” Her eyes turned to Elizabeth, eyeing her curiously. “Bad tings happen, when men play games wid de balances.” She shot a hard glance back towards the door, where Jack now stood, but did not elaborate. “You did well to help send dat Francisco to de deep. Dis I can allow.”

“Is that my heart?” asked Will, looking to the dripping chest.

“Yes. I will keep it now. Perhaps it should ‘ave been me to keep it all along. Good ting you have clever friends, Will Turnah, or this could ‘ave ended badly indeed.”

She inclined her head to her ferryman, paying very little attention to Elizabeth or Jack. “Will you return now?” Was it a command, or a request? The goddess was mysterious; only Will could know her true wish.

“I will do my duty.”

Upon hearing Will confer his promise to serve another woman, Elizabeth’s heart ached. Something clenched inside, something broke, and it was all she could do to swallow a frustrated scream. Calypso turned those knowing eyes to her, as though she could sense the pain and anger coiling deep inside Elizabeth.

“Good.” Calypso turned to walk out of the cabin, and Jack watched with part amusement, part amazement, as she kept walking, over the gunwale and straight into the sea, chest still in hand.

“I must go,” said Will sadly, pushing to his feet. Elizabeth too tried to push to hers, but found her legs unable to support her. Jack instinctively stepped forward to help her, but found Will already there to catch her. Not wanting to see anymore, the pirate ducked out of his cabin once again. Will only paid him a fleeting glance, before turning to savor the last few moments with his wife he would have for the next five years.

“Will you be there for me, in five years, when I...”

“Of course,” assured Elizabeth.

Glancing back at Jack, who stood with his back to them on deck, visible through the open cabin door, Will said, “Whatever shore you’ve traveled to, I will find you. The sea answers any questions I care to know.” He kissed her then. It was a gentle, loving brush of lips, but there was no passion, no fire. All that had been cut out, it seemed, placed in a chest in the hands of a sea goddess. It was good he had Calypso, Elizabeth thought. The way she...had Jack.

She managed to walk out to the deck with Will, and watched sadly as he made to cross to the Flying Dutchman. “Take care of her,” he said quietly to Jack in passing. He couldn’t have surprised the pirate more if he’d slapped him. Face skewed pensively, Jack watched him go, wondering why he wasn’t engaged in a sword fight with the whelp at that very moment.

Will simply wasn’t the same man they’d said farewell to, five years ago. But then again, how could he be?

Giving a final wave of goodbye, Will returned to the Flying Dutchman. With tears in her eyes, Elizabeth watched her husband sail away again, after only a torturously short time spent with him. Her legs threatened to give out once again, but Jack was there this time, slipping an arm around her waist for support. “Is it just me, or was that too easy?” he asked absently, almost as though he were only speaking to himself.

A telltale flash of green light filled the sky, and she turned to lean against Jack’s chest, at least at the moment, no longer interested in watching the horizon. Will didn’t have the capacity to be intensely emotional about anything anymore, it seemed. He’d cared enough to come to the surface, ensure her safety....but still, he was nearly as cold as the waves he ruled. There was a place for her in his heart, but ultimately, her husband now belonged to the sea, and the goddess who commanded it.

And where did she belong? She had no answer. But feeling Jack’s wiry arms around her, his breath stirring her hair atop her head, she had an inkling where to start her quest to find out.


	35. Epilogue

**Epilogue:**

 

It was on seemingly perfect Caribbean days like this, the sun kissing her bared skin, sitting on the top deck of the sailboat that cut through the turquoise waters glittering around them, a couple of glasses of rum in, that Elizabeth got a little nostalgic for the incredible journey that had brought them to that moment in time. She looked to Jack at the helm, his hair a raven waterfall of dreadlocks down his bronzed back, all manners of beads and trinkets glinting in the sunlight. He sang to himself in a low voice, utterly content. Strains of Marley’s _Redemption Song_ drifted back to her.

_Won’t you help me sing these songs of freedom?_

Her heart swelled, as ever, feeling as though it might burst in her chest for all the emotion it contained within her. Three hundred fifty years after she took her first sip of Agua de Vida, Elizabeth still loved Jack as much if not more than she did that fateful day.

So many years ago, she’d taken up swilling the life-giving waters for a number of reasons. First, because she simply didn’t want to die. There was too much to see and do, more than could ever possibly fit in one lifetime. And then there was Will. He needed someone waiting for him every ten years, his only link to the life he’d once had. But the greatest reason, the thing that made her eagerly take the proffered bottle still dripping wet from being filled in the fountain and swallow it down, was Jack. She’d known at the time that she could never ever truly have her fill of him. She needed more hours, more days, more years.

Always more.

And he felt the same.

In those early days of sailing with Jack, Elizabeth did her share aboard the Pearl. She’d learned the knots and rigging and duties of the watch. She’d sanded and scrubbed decks beside the men, at her own insistence, not Jack’s. She could be let loose with the helm all by her onesies without taking them towards Hispaniola. And after many late night lessons pouring over charts and instruments in the cabin of the Pearl, punctuated with more than a few amorous study breaks, her brilliant mind with its penchant for numbers lent itself to making Lizzy a crack sailing master.

Fortunes were made and lost and made again.

An earthquake destroyed most of Port Royal in 1692. The brick buildings, built in London fashion, crumpled under the force of the shaking ground. The city fell into the sea, and a tsunami and fire destroyed most of the rest. Elizabeth and Jack had been on the other side of the world, but eventually they heard gossip that the den of sinners had been destroyed, as punishment for the town’s penchant for debauchery and harboring pirates.

Elizabeth found that she agreed it was a punishment for the evils of men, but it was not the pirates and privateers who drew God or Karma’s wrath. She believed it was a comeuppance for those who made their massive fortunes upon the blood, sweat, and bones of the slaves trapped in the lucrative sugar trade. Many were ruined by the massive brick warehouses collapsing upon sugar shipments, or burned to the ground after the quake.

The Pearl sank in 1810 between the Florida Keys and Cuba, her hold laden with gold and jewels and silks and every other thing they owned. It was torn to bits by a freak storm that came upon them with hardly a warning, running them upon a sharp reef. It had been a great miracle that they had survived, even with fortification from Agua de Vida. Perhaps the stuff could preserve one’s youth, but it could not prevent one from drowning. They had lived like marooners with the surviving crew on a small island for months until being rescued.

Battered and heart broken, they limped back to Elizabeth’s cottage on the mountain. It had survived the massive quake of ’92, which Elizabeth chose to take as a sign of hope.

Never before had she seen Jack so low. Not even after causing his death with a Judas kiss. The light left his eyes, that beautiful and wicked little spark, that promise of mischief that Elizabeth always found so irresistible. He sat on the porch most days, looking out to the sea longingly, nursing a bottle of rum. When he finally told her he had to go away for a little while, it was the one and only time in their long line of years she feared she may lose him. But he promised to come back, and slipped out on a merchant ship bound for India.

She prayed he would have the sense not to make another deal with the devil or some minor deity to salvage the Pearl, but knew that forbidding him to do it would be for naught. So she bit her tongue, and waved goodbye as the schooner set out from the docks.

Months went by without word. Then a year. Then _two_ , and Elizabeth feared she’d been left ashore once more by the man she loved. She felt her heart breaking, a slow fissure that began to make its way through her soul. Perhaps she did a big song and dance about freedom and belonging only to herself, but in those long months she realized that Jack very much owned a part of her. Jack had become her world, and without him she felt unbearably adrift.

She’d sat on the edge of her cliff overlooking the sea, an embarrassing wetness in her eyes, praying for some sign of Jack.

When one August day in 1812 a handsome sloop with midnight sails glided into her harbor, its hull painted pitch black, Elizabeth’s heart threatened to explode with elation. She stood up with an excited _whoop_ , scrambling for her spyglass, her vision blurred by tears in her eyes. She found that in glittering gilded letters upon the prow was painted the name _Lovely Lizzy_. She searched out the helm, and found Jack standing proudly behind the wheel, blowing a kiss in her direction, knowing she would be looking his way.

She’d never scrambled down the path to her longboat so quickly. It had been a small wonder she didn’t break an ankle, or a leg on the mad dash down. Nor had she ever coaxed so much speed from the oars of her longboat, as she made her way out to Jack’s new ship. She was smaller than the Pearl, sleek as a panther, a vessel built for speed. The crew hauled Elizabeth aboard in a bosun’s chair, and her feet barely touched the deck before she sprinted for Jack’s arms. He kissed her silly and picked her up, twirled her in his arms, and then kissed her some more. The crew had watched their Captain with a mixture of amusement and horror, not used to such ardent displays of affection aboard a ship.

They would get used to it later.

Jack soon after produced a folio bearing an officious seal. Elizabeth scanned the documents to find they were letters of marque, for the _Americans_ , no less. Jack Sparrow, the most infamous pirate that ever sailed the Spanish Main, had decided to turn privateer in the little war between the British and the Americans. “Ready for another grand adventure, luv?” he’d asked, gold tooth glinting in the sun.

She rather liked the idea of dogging British merchant shipping in the name of the Yankees. They were living in _such_ interesting times. The Americans had just staged quite a revolution, soon followed by the French. The people were taking control of their destinies from Kings and Queens, as she and Jack had wondered would ever be possible. She didn’t mind helping the cause, and making a little coin in between.

Later, as they’d lain in Jack’s cabin in their most natural state, that being _without_ clothing, she’d asked where he’d gone. He spun a wild tale about spending months wandering the wilderness of India, taking up with a band of wild Sadhu holy men, and having a vision after an arduous pilgrimage up a minor Himalayan mountain.

She believed about half of it, and life went on.

In the war of 1812 they took more prizes than any other American ship.

And the world was changing.

Sensing that the age of piracy was truly coming to an end, Elizabeth set about to making investments with her share of the prizes, establishing an identity as a legitimate business woman.

Jack, ever suspicious of banks and those who ran them, proceeded to bury treasure on islands all over the Caribbean.

Will stopped meeting Elizabeth ashore in 1850. She’d waited on the beach for three days, and the flash of green never appeared on the horizon. It did not come as the surprise one might suspect. Their previous visits had taken on the flavor not of lovers long separated, but old friends meeting to catch up on the times. Elizabeth watched as Will faded further and further from the man he’d once been, the magic of the Dutchman eating him alive. At their last rendez-vous he was more sea-creature than man. She hoped Calypso put him to rest for all his years of faithful service, but a part of her wondered if the sea goddess herself had not faded in her power as the old ways and old beliefs fell to the shiny promises of modern times.

Eventually, many years later, Elizabeth made good on her plan to found a coffee plantation on her mountain. She raised eyebrows everywhere, operating it as a collective in which all the workers profited. Their brand would become one of the most sought after varieties in the world, known as a mild and delicious brew free of bitterness. The Japanese would pay $30 a pound for the stuff, and she didn’t complain.

Coffee was only one of her unladylike penchants. She became a well-known hell raiser, an advocate for human and women’s rights. Suffragettes all over the western world would quote her various writings, or chant them while holding their signs high.

The sixties were a _very_ interesting time for revolution, though she never would get on board with burning her bras. She found them a rather brilliant garment, light and supportive, and anyone who found them painful clearly had never suffered a corset under the Jamaican sun.

Elizabeth smiled at Jack’s sun-bronzed back as the lilt of a new song met her ears. _Southern Cross_ by Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

_When you see the Southern Cross for the first time, you understand now why you came this way._

Jack never really got over the seventies.

Since the golden age of piracy, never did a period of time seem so perfectly tailored just for a devil-may-care rogue like him.

It was incalculable, the tonnage of cannabis that had passed from Columbia to Key West in the hold of this very sail boat, the Lovely Lizzy III. Jack hadn’t needed the money, though he made a fortune as a smuggler for the hippy weed cartels of Miami.

Jack had never been a pirate for the love of violence. Love of treasure, perhaps, and adventure and freedom. Jack needed _mischief_ , like others needed air to breathe. Jack was not the Devil, as some over the years had claimed. Jack was the Trickster. Jack was Puck, Loki, and Anansi, all wrapped into one beautiful soul.

Jack also found he liked music, and to write. Elizabeth watched with surprised delight as his creativity bloomed. He took up the guitar, and loved to while away an afternoon at the plantation or on his boat writing new songs.

Though Jack preferred to remain anonymous in the song credits on the album jacket, Jimmy Buffett became his best customer.

Cannabis nudged rum from its venerated place in his esteem as his favorite substance. Its earthy perfume added a new note to the already intoxicating medley that was Jack’s scent. He liked the warm fuzzy high, far more than the simple numb. Elizabeth found it a little amusing that people would look at Jack and see just another Rasta island bum, having no idea of the incredible things he’d done or the improbable places he’d gone.

Jack liked it that way.

He preferred to keep his anonymity in the face of eternity. For a man who had once pursued the making of his own legend with reckless tenacity, it didn’t seem so important now that he’d gained true happiness in life. Less questions made life easier. Elizabeth herself was on her sixth identity as the great great great great great granddaughter of Elizabeth Swann, the governor’s daughter.

And so it was to Elizabeth’s great surprise when Jack wrote a three part adventure saga screen play about their adventures, and sold it to Disney for a ridiculous amount of cash. It would become wildly popular, a worldwide sensation. Jack himself was played by a devilishly handsome American with smoldering dark eyes and a reputation for trashing hotel rooms.

Elizabeth had worn a ravishing beaded Valentino gown to the premier, and feeling rather neglected in all the bustle of making the movies, and rather disconcerted by the ending of the third film, she’d flirted with this young actor quite mercilessly. She found he was quite a kindred spirit, fierce and free but also endearingly sweet.

She’d felt Jack’s eyes upon them from all the way across the room.

Jack Sparrow made love to her that night with a passionate fury she had not seen in _years._

He still loved her. After all this time, he still loved her madly.

Later, in the quiet of the early morning, she’d asked him, “Why did you write the ending that way?”

He’d smiled, gold glinting in the moonlight. “Because the truth belongs to us, luv, and no one else.”

After that Jack became interested in treasure salvaging. He had plenty of gold stashed about the Caribbean, most islands that he himself now owned, but pulling it from below the sea and sands of time was what really fired his excitement. Elizabeth watched his new hobby knowingly, waiting for the news.

Jack found the Pearl in fifty feet of water southwest of Key West. They pulled her up piece by piece. Chests of gold and silver bullion, ingots, doubloons and pieces of eight. Things they’d stolen long ago from a Spanish ship, and had been transferring to a new hiding place. After so many years it lay on the deck of their ship once more, covered in grime and barnacles but no less beautiful for it.

When her own sea chest came up Elizabeth marveled to find the remnants of an extra pistol, a sword, and a heavy gold necklace Jack had given her, studded with dreamy green Columbian emeralds. It badly needed a cleaning, but she’d clasped it about her neck anyway, holding her head high. “Fit for a Pirate King,” Jack whispered in her ear, and the old title still swelled her heart with pride.

After losing the figurehead of the Pearl to a cannonball in a sea battle, Jack had commissioned a new one to be carved out of cypress wood, a maiden that bore striking resemblance to Lizzy. Jack and Elizabeth had watched the salvage with excitement and wide smiles, but when this article was pulled from the sea by the divers, the paint long worn but her figure barely touched by time, they clutched each other and finally wept for their fallen comrade the Black Pearl, the most beautiful ship they’d ever known.

From his place at the helm of the Lovely Lizzy III, Jack looked back over his shoulder at his lounging Pirate King, loving that modern marvel of fashion, _the bikini._ God bless whoever had that idea, he thought to himself, smiling for the swathes of perfect sun bronzed bare skin open to his view.

He also loved onboard navigation systems, and with a press of a button he was free to join Lizzy on the soft vinyl upholstered bench, lighting a spliff and inhaling deeply. When she siddled closer, a mischievous little smile in place, he knew exactly what she wanted. He inhaled another toke and met her uplifted lips, shotgunning the pungent smoke into her mouth.

She loved imbibing of the bud this intimate way, as though she were getting high on Jack’s very essence.

It was the way she’d felt for the past three hundred and fifty years, her awe of him never fading. So many adventures they had tasted, so many that it seemed only one remained, one journey they had not yet dared try.

Elizabeth took in the sight of Jack, his long dark hair and dancing eyes, the strong column of his throat and broad shoulders, his trim waist and the swim trunks printed with palm trees and hula girls that encased his long thighs. His feet were bare, and she curled her toes against his, drawing his gaze her way.

“Lizzy luv, I can positively _hear_ the wheels turning in your brain.” He offered her the spliff as means of remedy, but she waved it away, a soft smile curling her lips.

“Jack, I’ve been thinking.”

“Calypso help us all.”

She swatted him playfully, laughing. “I’m serious.”

He affected an appropriate expression, dark brows knitted with consternation.

“Yes, luv?”

She laughed again, and pulled him into a kiss, melting as that beautiful mouth slid against her own. A groan emitted from deep in Jack’s chest, and he eased her back against the bench, his body fitting against her own. He pressed kisses beneath her ear and down her neck, winning a sigh filled with desire. “Still thinking?” he asked, fitting his hips snugly between her thighs.

Drawing back, Elizabeth cradled Jack’s face in her still elegant hands, taking in his features from a breath away. God, how she loved this man. Could she have known, that fateful day when he pulled her from the harbor, the journey they would take together, that he would be her greatest love—what would she have done differently? It was impossible to say. Nothing, maybe, or perhaps, everything.

“I love you, Jack,” she sighed, kissing the tip of his nose, and his lips, gently.

He narrowed his eyes with faux-suspicion, eyeing her up and down. Something was afoot. He knew it, knew that sly and laughing look in her eye.

“What _are_ you thinking, my Lizzy girl?”

“Jack…I’m thinking that I want a child. Your child.”

She expected many reactions to this anvil of a request dropped from the sky. She expected that eyebrow raise, that theatrical expression of surprise. She expected a protest, or at least, an _are you sure?_ They’d always taken such pains over the years _not_ to reproduce, which became decidedly easier with the innovations in birth control of the sixties.

She did not expect Jack to offer her a warm smile, and press his lips to hers in a kiss that was long and slow and utterly befuddling. He kissed her mouth and her chin, her neck and her chest, her breasts and her belly. Deftly he untied the laces of her bikini at her hips, his smile still wide and radiant as the sun above them.

“Jack?” she asked, thinking she understood, but suddenly very _badly_ wanting to hear him say it.

He turned his gaze to hers, his black eyes shining with mischief and desire and _something_ _else_. That something else that had always been in his eyes, when he looked at Elizabeth. It had been there on the island, and on the Pearl, the day he proposed a mar-i-age. It had been there that fateful night in Tortuga, when she sought him out and asked him to go on an adventure with her. That _something_ _else_ had taken her so long, so damnably long to identify.

Love.

It was undying, unwavering, and unyielding love for Elizabeth the Pirate King.

“Darlin’, I thought you’d never ask.”

 

 

**The End**

 


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